Morning Sickness
by Astra M
Summary: Vash, Meryl and Milly wind up in a town where everyone is falling violently ill. Set post series. [Vash x Meryl]
1. Morning Sickness Prologue

_**Trigun Fanfic - "Morning Sickness"**_

_Written August 2001 (and counting) by Astra M._

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_Disclaimer: Trigun copyright 1998 Yasuhiro Nightow / Shonen Gaho-sha, Tokuma Shoten, JVC. This is a derivative work based on the Trigun/Trigun Maximum series created purely for entertainment value; no profit is being made from its dissemination._

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**Prologue**

_Mmmm..._

Vash the Stampede, notorious $$60,000,000,000 outlaw and widely feared Humanoid Typhoon, sighed as he shifted slightly in the bed, a goofy grin spreading across his boyish face. Still caught up in the semi-conscious stupor typical of the reluctantly awakened, he could sense the approaching dawn, but decided that he wasn't ready to open his eyes just yet. Not when the memory of the previous night's dream was still filtering pleasurably across his inner eye.

Unlike all of the other dreams of this nature he'd had in the past, this one had felt much more – there was no other word for it – _vivid_. If he concentrated, he found that he could still remember certain aspects of his lover with such detail that was surprising, even to him. Surprising, in that he had really no experience to base such details on. But that was beside the point.

He could use his imagination (something in which he had always excelled at) and recall his partner with ease, to dwell at leisure on all her finer points. Her soft hands gliding up along his chest, the weight of her delicate body pressing down lightly on top of his, her head curled against his neck...

_Aaahhh..._

Meryl Stryfe, claims investigator for the Bernardelli Insurance Society and employee of the month, multiple times over, unconsciously cooed with pleasure as she pillowed her right hand under her head. Somewhere in the back of her mind she was sure her internal clock must have gone off – she had a knack for always knowing what time it was, even without a watch – and that she needed to be getting up, but...

Eyes still firmly closed, a languid half-smile curled up the left corner of her mouth. There was no need to rush the morning, not when there were much more... _interesting_ things to focus on in the dark. She almost giggled as she shifted her weight a little more comfortably.

There was no question about it. Unlike all of the other dreams of this nature she'd had in the past, this one had felt much more – there was no other way to describe it – _believable_. In truth, she hadn't even thought herself capable of having such dreams, not having had the experience to go on. Which was something that made this one all the more enjoyable. If she concentrated, she still could recall several fascinating details of her partner's body. The many peculiar markings covering his long, lean form; his powerful arms wrapping tightly around her; the feel of his gentle hands sliding down along her backside...

_Hmm..._

_It was amazing_, Vash thought fuzzily. He was almost awake now – at least, he thought he was – yet the dream was still quite tangible in his mind. He could swear he was really feeling the weight of his dream lover on top of him, could feel the warm breath against his throat, the concave slope of her back underneath his forearms, trace the tantalizing groove down her spine... Was such virtual realism really possible for a dream?

... A certain very firm roundness cupped between his hands...

Then again, does it really matter?

_Ehh..._

_How strange_, thought Meryl. She had almost decided that it was time to finally wake up when she felt her dream companion reach down and start doing _this_ to her. She didn't think she had consciously willed that to happen... had she?

Regardless of that, she found that she really didn't mind. It was rather a nice sensation. On the whole, not a bad way to wake up in the morning.

Still, something didn't feel quite right...

"Not so hard, honey," she murmured.

_Whoa_, thought Vash. _This is so freaky._ He could have sworn he'd actually heard that.

"Sorry, babe," he whispered. "This any better?"

_This just seems all so real._

"Mmmm... much better. Thanks, Vash."

"Anytime, Meryl."

A little too real.

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	2. Chapter 1 Good Morning!

**Chapter One: Good Morning!**

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_Bowe's Flats, 325 iles SSE of December_

Vash bolted upright so fast he accidentally knocked Meryl flat on her back against the foot of the bed. She was barely there a moment before she, too, had sprung back up on her knees to confront her unexpected bedmate. They stared at each other in mute shock, numbly registering their mutual state of semi-undress and general disarray while their jaws fell slack. Then Vash's gaze took a noticeable dip southwards, eyes growing even wider. Meryl reflexively threw her arms across her chest.

It was then that their tongues finally reestablished a tenuous connection with their brains, Vash's slightly faster than Meryl's.

_"What-!?!"_

_"You-?!?"_

_"Here-!?!"_

_"Together-?!?"_

_"When-!?!"_

_"How-?!?"_

_"Last night-!?!"_

"OH!!!" they screamed together, as vague half-memories of their nocturnal reveries suddenly came rushing back. As the full impact of these thoughts with all their attendant insinuations overcame them, they lapsed back into bewildered silence, Vash now crouched on his haunches, leaning forward heavily on his arms, Meryl with hands pressed over her pale cheeks.

"Last...," began Meryl.

"... night," finished Vash.

With that hanging thickly between them in the obscure morning air, they each slumped backwards on the bed to warily regard the other. As their confusion and disbelief mounted with each passing moment, they guardedly watched each other's glowing faces, searching for something – _anything_ – that might reveal how such a thing came to pass. A minute of impasse that felt like an eternity slipped by, when as if by Fate's hand a fragment of lucidity reached up from the pits of their churning stomachs and finally made a connection.

Then they both promptly leaned over the side of the bed and threw up.

Vash, recovering the soonest, tiredly wiped his chin with his arm as he watched Meryl heaving wretchedly beside him. He frowned worriedly as he observed her shaking form, a flood of disjointed thoughts running through his mind, wondering which of them was the safest to act on. Then as her motions subsided, he hesitatingly reached out to place his hand softly on her arm.

"Uh... you okay?"

At his touch, Meryl quickly jerked back up, one hand now firmly clamped over her mouth, the other holding the front of her blouse closed. Avoiding Vash's gaze, she almost vaulted across the bed and ran out the door without further comment.

Vash listened to her retreating steps in the hallway, staring forlornly at the open door. Finally turning away, he cupped his forehead in his hands and closed his eyes.

"Oh, man... _mmmrph!_"

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Meryl made her way back through the inn's corridors on a beeline for her room, almost at a run, effortlessly jumping over a man dressed in a frilly pink tutu who was passed out in the middle of a stairwell and just avoiding stepping on a stray black cat sleeping carelessly at the very top of the main landing. Feeling an increasingly pressing urgency start to overtake her, she was soon thundering down the hallway.

_I'm not going to make it!_

Hand still firmly clamped over mouth, she turned the last corner, very nearly running over a large person who was passed out against the wall, several empty ice cream containers nearby. Letting go of her blouse, she frantically fumbled with the doorknob, beads of sweat now breaking out along her brow.

_Where are my keys?!? Where are my - oh no! I must have left them in Va-_

_No! I won't think... I can't go ba... Oh no oh no oh no no no!!!_

"Milly!" Meryl screamed as she began to pound loudly on the door, unmindful of the disturbance she knew she would be causing the inn's other guests. "Damn it, Milly! Wake up! Please!"

No response. Meryl twisted back around, sheer desperation giving her a half-crazed look. Her glazed eyes scanned up and down the hall, covering every inch, looking for something, anything...

Like an empty ice cream container. Meryl all but threw herself on the floor to grab the nearest one when her eyes fell on the face of the unconscious person, who had apparently not been in the least disturbed by all her racket. The face of a _very_ familiar person, actually.

"Milly?"

Milly Thompson, formidable strongwoman of the M&M duo (and voted most likely to be on permanent janitorial duty by her fellow Bernardelli employees) lay propped against the wall, a decidedly contented smile plastered across her cheery face. Meryl could just make out a dribble of chocolate in the corner of her mouth. Dropping the container, she now grabbed hold of the larger girl's blouse and began to shake her.

"Milly, please, wake up! I need to get your room key. MILLY!!!"

Her comatose partner giggled. "I'm sorry, mister, but I just don't do that sort of thing... I said I wanted _pistachio_ nuts with my order!"

Letting go of her friend's collar, Meryl fought the urge to pull her own hair out – when Milly was like this, it would take the sound of a Sandsteamer crash to wake her up. And she was rapidly running out of time...

"Sorry, Milly, I'd wake you up to ask you first and find-out-what-the-heck-it-is-you're-doing-out-here-but _this is an emergency!_" Quickly rifling through her coat pockets, Meryl yanked out the key and scrambled back to the door. Finally meeting with success, she hurled herself through and slammed it shut behind her.

The loud bang succeeded where Meryl had not in rousing Milly from her stupor. Blearily gazing up at her room door, Milly blinked in momentary confusion, then smiled languidly. "Meryl?... Izzat you? Where ya been? I had the _strangest_ dream..."

Then she promptly rolled over and threw up.

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The sun had fully risen when Vash finally made his way along the hallway, reluctantly heading in what he thought was the general direction of the dining room. Sticking his head in a basin of cold water for a half hour had not abated his nausea nor bestowed any clarity to the unsettling events of that morning. If anything, he only felt worse.

_My head... I don't understand... feels like it's splitting in half. And my stomach... I've been drunk before... but I... I never... what in the world happened last night? Did I lose... no... this hangover, never felt one like it... but I couldn't have... really lost it?_

_Did Meryl and I ... really..?_

With that disturbing thought, Vash paused in the entranceway of the cafe. He would have wished anything, even facing his own brother, than what he knew he would soon have to deal with that morning. For a moment, he seriously considered living up to his purported reputation and really act the coward. Maybe he should do like he did in the past, just head on out of town without a word? He might even catch the bus to the next settlement before the girls were even –

"Good morning, Mr. Vash!"

Milly called out cheerfully to him, in the process drawing a few annoyed glances from several of the cafe's other patrons, most of whom did not look quite as pleased to be awake. Vash saw that the two women were sitting at a table near the window well away from everyone else, and appeared to have already ordered a (largely) liquid breakfast; Milly looking little worse for wear; Meryl, decidedly ill.

Swallowing hard, Vash made his way over. Pulling out a chair, he nervously ran a hand through his spiky hair and sat down, quickly snapping up a menu and propping it open in front of his face, out of either woman's direct line of vision.

"Er... good morning, Milly... Meryl."

"Morning," she mumbled softly, not looking up.

They lapsed into silence – unusual for their group, even if it was morning – and Vash made a show of being very interested in reading the menu while Meryl stared at the street outside, ignoring her coffee growing cold on the table. Unaccustomed to the lethargic display of her companions (she was usually the slowest one in the morning) Milly glanced over the rim of her teacup between the two. She looked thoughtful as she quietly studied their faces, then setting her cup down, decided that a little conversation was in order.

"So, how did you two sleep last night?" Milly asked brightly.

That brought them around.

"HUH?!?" Vash and Meryl fairly shouted at the same time, causing several other guests to turn around and glare.

"Last night," Milly repeated patiently, pouring herself another cup from a large, green bottle labeled _Wilde Thomas Olde Tyme Tea Tonic_. "How did you sleep?"

"Uh..."

"Er..."

"We... that is, I-"

"Well, you see..."

"_Fine_, just fine, really...," Meryl finally managed to get out, in what she hoped was a casual voice.

"Yeah," Vash added quickly. "Just great! _Ha, ha, ha!_ Couldn't be better! _Ha, ha, ha!_ I should have more nights like tha- ...uh... ahuh, aha, ah, _ha, ha,_ HA-!"

"Oh?" Milly looked surprised.

"Why do you ask?" Meryl interrupted, as nonchalantly as possible while drawing her foot back from where she had kicked Vash under the table.

"I was just thinking that both of you looked somehow, I don't know, _different_ this morning."

The two visibly paled as Milly took another contemplative sip.

"D-different?" Vash stammered. "How so?"

Meryl stayed speechless.

"Well, you're both _green_ for one thing. Aren't you feeling sick?"

They stared at Milly in disbelief, who only blinked innocently back at them, before simultaneously letting out private sighs of relief. Looking up, they accidentally caught each other's eye, and with the unspoken tension between them seemingly diffused, they began to chuckle sheepishly.

"What's so funny?" asked Milly, still watching them.

"Uh... nothing, really," said Vash, as he and Meryl both reddened slightly.

"Well, I'm happy to see that you two made up, in any case."

They stopped laughing. _Made up?_

Milly continued. "I'm so glad. I was really worried there for a moment. After what happened at dinner last night, I thought Meryl was going to slap you, Mr. Vash."

_Slap him?_ Meryl was startled. _I was angry with him? B-but then how…?_

Meryl furrowed her brow in puzzlement. It wasn't the knowledge that she had allegedly been upset with Vash (that of itself was neither alarming nor surprising), it was that she simply couldn't recollect any of it. And what was more –

_Come to think of it, I can't really remember anything at all since before… waking up this morning._

Meryl felt her heart begin to thump ominously as she shifted nervously in her chair. Questions that had been swirling around in her mind just before Vash had appeared at the table, throwing off her train of thought entirely, again clamored for her immediate attention.

_I don't understand… I don't understand. This makes no sense at all!_

There were two things that Meryl always prided herself on: her trust in her own senses and her belief that she could always be depended upon to act responsibly, no matter how events might spiral out of control around her, as they were often prone to in Vash's company. She was certain of this. It was the only thing that kept her relatively sane after all this time.

_Last night… I only had a stupid dream. And that's ALL it was. Okay. So maybe it was a little more… detailed than the average dream. All right, just a bit more. A lot more. But It Was A Dream. And so what if that pervert was in my bed… er, in his bed… in his bedroom… that I was in. So... _

_Anyway, it's beside the point. It's not possible that… Of course not. Ridiculous. I __**know**__ myself. And besides, I couldn't just forget doing something like... that. I'd remember. I'm sure of it... _

_But then why can't I really remember…?_

Meryl felt her stomach churning.

_NO. That can't be... I __**know**__ I would never just... I wouldn't!_

She snuck a covert glance at Vash.

_... wouldn't I?_

Unexpectedly, she felt her chest tighten.

_**Wouldn't**__ I?!?_

Hardly believing it possible, she felt herself grow paler.

_Oh, heavens, what in the world __**happened**__ last night?_

Unknown to her, Vash was likewise confronting a few unpleasant thoughts of his own. _Slap me?_ The gunman frowned. It wasn't the revelation that he had supposedly done something to anger Meryl (that was neither unusual nor particularly troubling), it was that he couldn't for the life of him remember any of it.

But there was something else...

"So Meryl was angry with me... what's strange about that?" Vash laughed carelessly, while in the back of his mind warning bells were going off.

Milly swirled her cup idly. "Actually, Mr. Vash, what surprised me was what _you_ did to provoke her."

_Eh?_ Vash was taken aback.

"And then you two went and made that silly bet. It really shocked me."

"Bet? What bet?" Vash blurted out before he could stop himself, as Meryl raised her head to stare intently at her friend.

Milly only looked at back Vash quizzically. "Don't you remember?"

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	3. Chapter 2 Stampede vs Stryfe

**Chapter Two: Stampede vs Stryfe**

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_---the previous evening---_

The celebration had already been well underway when Vash, Meryl and Milly arrived at the hotel, the only one in Bowe's Flats, looking for that night's lodging. It had been a long, grueling trek across the desert for the past few days just to reach this small town, one of the more remote and isolated settlements in that region – though _remote_ and _isolated_ were hardly the words one would use to describe it at that moment.

_It figures we would arrive in the middle of their annual festival_, Meryl thought as she observed the throng of people milling about the streets. All she really wanted was dinner, a bath, and a nice, soft bed to collapse into and sleep off all her accumulated travel sores. _On second thought, forget the dinner_, Meryl thought as she was checking into a room for Milly and herself. _Just a nice, long bath will do... if Vash doesn't do anything reckless tonight_, she amended.

Smiling in anticipation with these thoughts, she walked back to her partner, who was waiting patiently with their baggage in the lobby. As she approached, Meryl saw that the tall girl was in a good mood, humming merrily along to a catchy tune that was wafting out from the inn's adjacent saloon. A sign reading "Private Party" hung over the saloon's entrance.

"Here's your room key," Meryl said, handing it off to Milly as she stooped to pick up her own luggage. She was already heading up the stairwell when she paused. Something was not quite right. She turned to look back around, and felt a small knot forming in her stomach.

"Milly, where's Vash?"

"Oh, he went to check out the party right after he got his room."

"He... he _what?!?_"

Dropping her bags, Meryl charged back across the hall and threw open the saloon's swing doors, obliviously ripping through the "Private Party" sign in the process.

_No... I can't believe... no, he wouldn't! He must not have seen, or else he'd realize –_

Then again, since when did _not_ being intimately acquainted with the members of the party ever stop Vash before?

Sure enough, the gunman was standing just within, apparently in the middle of scoping out the room for a likely seat. Meryl almost ran into him.

"Vash? What are you –"

"Oh, hiya, Meryl!" Vash turned his head to grin down at her, an excited twinkle already gleaming in his eyes. Meryl felt a tremor run down her spine. "Come to join in the fun?"

"Join in the –?" Meryl frowned. Sometimes she couldn't believe the audacity of the man. She grabbed hold of his arm. "We _can't_, Vash. We don't know anyone here! It would be impolite! You can't just barge –"

"C'mon, c'mon Meryl, it'll be okay!" Vash smiled sheepishly, waving his hand at her. "These people are just having a good time. They won't mind. Besides," he added, putting on his best conciliatory smile, "They're probably so drunk by now that they wouldn't even notice!"

"_Vash_…" Meryl groaned.

"I think it sounds great!" Milly seconded, coming up behind them.

"Oh, Milly, not you too..."

"See? Even Milly agrees with me! Look, Meryl," Vash looked at her with hopeful eyes, "We need to eat something as it is, and the inn's dining room will be closed by now, so this is really the only place we can come to, anyway. So… why not make the most of it? Unless of course you _wanted_ to go out somewhere else to find –"

Meryl smacked her forehead. "Oh, _all right_... just for a little while," she conceded, too tired to argue anymore.

And so, a "little" while and a full meal later (consisting largely of salmon sandwiches and assorted hors d'oeuvres), Vash seemed no more ready to leave than he had when they'd first sat down. If anything, Meryl noted darkly, he looked to just be getting started. But it wasn't until she saw him deftly lift a bottle of wine off a passing partygoer that she decided to finally put her foot down.

"Vash," she began in what she hoped was a cajoling tone, "It's really late. And you've been on the road for days now. Don't you think you should be retiring for the evening?"

"Nope, didn't even cross my mind." Vash worried the cork off the bottle, grinning self-satisfactorily when it finally shot off with a loud pop. He looked up at the two women. "Can you believe how lucky we are to hit this place during their festival? People out everywhere, lots to eat, lots to drink, everybody having a good time…," he laughed, pouring himself a full glass. "Hey, who knew?"

_Indeed_, Meryl thought. She wasn't ready to give up, though.

"Yes, Vash, I'm sure that the people here who have worked so hard and paid for all this deserve a good time - but I'm not sure how far that goes in _our_ case."

Vash cocked an eyebrow as he swirled his glass, watching her.

"You know, Meryl, you would probably enjoy life more if you weren't always so uptight about things."

"_Uptight?!?_"

"When an opportunity for amusement presents itself, you should take advantage it! It's only natural. So why not let your hair down and enjoy the festivities?" He lifted his glass at her. "And I can guarantee there's plenty more where this came from!"

"_My_ idea of fun doesn't involve getting so plastered I can't see straight!" Meryl huffed indignantly.

"No one said anything about getting _plastered_. I just suggested we join in with the rest of these fine people and have a little drink or two ourselves. No harm in that."

"But a 'drink or two' always ends up becoming _four or more_ with you!"

"So who's counting?" Vash picked up the bottle and sloshed it around. "Well, what do you say? Anyone up for a little round?"

"I'll drink to that!" Milly cried.

"No, you _won't_," Meryl countered. "Don't you get it?"

Internally, she groaned; all she really wanted was to do her job, preferably with as little painlessness as possible. If people would only act more responsibly, wouldn't that make everything more pleasant? Life would be so much easier. She hated having to always play the heavy. But if she didn't...

"Look, Milly, you know as well as I that the ability to perform one's job is hindered by consuming alcohol. Even if Vash here," – she pointed rudely at the bemused gunman's face – "wants to get sloshed that's his business, but you and I have a duty to make sure our job gets done, and that means at least one of us stays coherent at all times, and _I_ –"

She was about to end with, "_and I want to go to sleep!_" when Vash interrupted her.

"Well, all right then... _you_ drink with me, Meryl."

"_What?!?_" Meryl looked at Vash in open shock. "Are you serious?"

"I agree." Milly smiled encouragingly at her partner's incredulous face. "I think it would be a nice treat to let Meryl cut back and enjoy herself for once instead of us hogging all the fun."

"Have you even been listening to a word I've said, Milly?"

"Actually, _I_ think she's hit the nail on the head."

The short woman turned to angrily confront Vash, but was stopped by something she saw in his eyes. She furrowed her brow in puzzlement, trying to discern the difference.

"Face it, Meryl. You can argue all you want, but it's not really Milly's or my drinking that bothers you."

He was smiling as usual, and a stranger wouldn't note anything odd about the humorous grin on his face, but there was an uncharacteristic pointedness in the gaze that Meryl found disturbing. Then she felt her chest tighten as she suddenly understood the meaning of that look.

_You can't hide from me._

Vash's eyes were fairly dancing now, while across the table Meryl felt her heart begin to race. In her mind, she suddenly had a vision, a familiar one that she wasn't particularly thrilled to recall at that moment: Vash, cocksure grin in place, fingers likewise hitched back in gun fashion, drawing a bead on her heart...

"It's the thought of _your_ getting drunk that bugs the heck out of you."

...That disarming smile playing across his features, gee-golly don't-mean-nuthin'-by-it charm gone into overdrive, all while his eyes were telling her quite plainly Cheshire-cat style, _I know what you're really thinking_...

"You're just afraid of losing control of yourself in front of people."

_...and I never miss my target. _

"Especially in front of Milly…"

_Bang!_

"…and me."

It infuriated her.

"Aren't you?"

She was on her feet before she even knew it.

"VASH THE STAMPEDE!!! On behalf of the Bernardelli Insurance Society, I, Meryl Stryfe, CHALLENGE YOU!!!"

Not surprisingly, even in the din of the party, all conversation ground to a halt. Scattered murmurs of "_did that lil' lady just say Vash the Stampede?_" passed among the assembled crowd as everyone stopped their merriment to turn and watch as a petite young lady stood glaring across a table at a lanky blond man.

"Oh, my." Milly blinked up at her friend in genuine surprise and concern. "A formal challenge."

Vash was taken aback. It was true, he had been deliberately baiting her, but he hadn't really expected this kind of reaction. He quickly stopped smiling as he realized that he'd pushed her too far. But for Meryl to say something like _this_? Blinking across the table at her in complete bewilderment, Vash tried to assess if she was joking or not. But he could see it in her eyes: she was dead serious, or at least, seriously angry enough to believe herself so. He knew she would not forgive him if he dared to make light of the situation now. But to take her challenge threat _seriously_? Vash also knew that she was speaking more out of momentary anger than rational thought… if he could just get her to calm down….

_That's right._ Maybe the best he could do for now was to go along with it, and hopefully gently bluff her out of this. Straightening up in his chair, Vash calmly composed himself, putting on his best poker face. He wished he had his glasses on – it was so much more effective that way – and looked her straight in the eyes. "All right. And what's the challenge?" he said evenly.

_What the __**hell**__ am I doing?_ Meryl's mind raced. She could hardly believe it herself, that she'd let her anger get hold of her long enough to take complete leave of her senses and actually challenge Vash – _Vash the Stampede_ – and in front of a crowd of strangers, no less! And while she stood there mentally berating herself for acting like an idiot, there _he_ sat, with that serious-as-death look on his face, acting for all the world as if he really meant to duel with her. _What, is he planning on humiliating me now?_

"I, er... I challenge you to, uh..."

Meryl couldn't think. _And just what the heck am I supposed to beat him at, anyway?_ It only annoyed her further that she couldn't think of a face-saving way out of this ridiculous situation.

"I challenge you to –"

"You challenge me _to_…?" Vash prompted in his most conciliatory voice. It only aggravated her further.

_C'mon, Stryfe, think! Anything! _

"Meryl!" Milly gasped.

"To a… to an..."

_What the hell were we even talking about before this started?_

The whole bar waited.

"I ch-challenge you to..."

"Yessss...?"

_Why you – That __**does**__ it!_

"_I challenge you to a drinking match!!!_"

There was an almost reverent hush throughout the bar as Meryl's declaration hung in the air... up until the moment Vash's eyes bugged out. And in spite of himself, he burst out laughing like a hyena. She stared in shock as the blond man doubled over, holding his sides as he gasped for air.

"A... a DRINKING match? _You_? 'Sobriety' Stryfe? Against _me_?" Tears were pouring out of his eyes as he slapped the table. "Oh, that's a _great_ one, Meryl! And here I was afraid you were actually being seri-..."

Vash looked up to see that Meryl's face had gone beet red. He gulped.

"Y-you mean you... _were_ being serious?" he asked weakly.

Meryl couldn't answer. She felt her eyes stinging and her teeth grind, as she clenched her fists so hard that her nails dug into the flesh. Her mouth opened as if to say something to Vash's stunned face, but instead she jerked angrily away and yelled over her shoulder.

"_Bartender!_"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Did you hear all that?"

"Uh... well, everyone did, ma'am."

She felt her face would have colored even more were it possible but she determinedly stiffened her back. "Then what are you waiting for? Twenty whiskey shots - line 'em up! _Now!_"

"_What?!?_" Vash yelled.

"Will you settle for the house special?" the bartender asked.

"YOU HEARD ME!" Meryl was fairly screaming now. "This... _person_ and I are going to have ourselves a little drinking contest! So you just _start pouring!!!_"

"The house special it is then," the bartender murmured as he hurriedly began to set out the glasses.

Vash saw that this had now gone completely out of hand. He regretted his mistake, and realized that he had to act fast before it got any worse. Coming up beside Meryl, he grabbed hold of her arm and whispered in her ear: "Come on, Meryl, _please_. I'm sorry. Let's just forget abou-"

Meryl angrily pulled her wrist free. She coolly regarded the surprised man, and said with more bravado than she actually felt, "What's the matter, Vash? Not afraid of a little _challenge_, are you?"

"You'll lose," Vash said in a warning tone.

"Oh, you think so? Well, Mr. Vash the Stampede," Meryl countered in her iciest voice, "_We'll just have to see about that!_" Then turning her back on him, she stomped over to the bar and sat down.

Vash stood looking at Meryl's back, all traces of his earlier joviality gone. He regarded her quietly, growing more than a little annoyed with the recent turn of events. _Okay, if you want to be stubborn about this..._

"ALL RIGHTY!!!" Vash hollered in his most obnoxious showman's voice – the one Wolfwood once told him would put the fear of God into a convention of atheists – "_Ladies and gentlemen_, we have an amazing opportunity presented before you this evening. If there's a betting man among you, I'm sure you'll see this as a once-in-a-lifetime money-making venture so STUPENDOUSLY risk-free, it would be almost _criminal_ to pass up! In one corner, we have the defender," – he gestured to himself while striking a bodybuilder's pose – "A healthy, handsome, _strapping_ young man in the prime of his life, meeting the challenge of _this_," – he waved dismissively at Meryl – "puny little specimen of a girl." Sauntering over to the bar, Vash threw himself onto the stool next to his fuming opponent. Wagging his eyebrows roguishly at her, he called out an overly high, sing-song voice, "Anyone willing to place a bet on the outcome of this little game?"

"I'll bet on the blond!"

"Me too!"

"Count me in!"

As all the bets were being placed, Vash smirked at Meryl, who glowered darkly at him.

"Well, Ms. Stryfe, are you _still_ sure about this?"

"Shut up! I'm NOT speaking to you!"

"Promises, promises," he taunted mildly, while jauntily toasting her with one of the shot glasses already set out. _Get ready to kiss the floor, Meryl!_

"This won't be much of a bet if no one backs the lady," the bartender said.

"I'll bet on Meryl," Milly offered.

"It's your funeral," Vash quipped.

_Vash the Stampede_, Meryl vowed silently as she reached out for the first shot, _I __**absolutely**__ won't lose to you without a fight!_

_---the present---_

"Oh, yeah... You meant _that_ little bet..." Vash wondered if Milly was buying his bluff. "Well, you know... it was so long ago."

"It was only last night."

"I meant figuratively. So many things can happen in a night! Er…."

Meryl flinched. Vash began to sweat. Milly nodded sagely.

"That's true. But you know, it _was_ sort of all your fault to begin with, Mr. Vash."

"Like I needed to be reminded of that," Vash muttered.

"Well, as they say, all's well that ends well," the cheery woman assured him, then much to both of her companions' discomfort, added with a strangely coy smile, "And it _did_ end up pretty well, didn't it, Mr. Vash?"

The gunman was left speechless. "Can we please talk about something else?" Meryl pleaded.

"All right." Milly still had that thoughtful look on her face. "So what did you guys dream about last night?"

They began to choke.

"You know," Milly observed, "Are you guys really sure you're okay? We could always go to see the local doctor."

"No, no, it's nothing," Vash mumbled, and seeing that Milly looked unconvinced, hastily added, "This is just a regular hangover! C'mon, you know me – I get these all the time. I drink like a fish to the point I never know what I'll end up doing…."

He stopped himself as he felt an icy chill racing down his spine, sensing rather than seeing the piercing look Meryl was shooting at him. He made a mental note to punch himself in the mouth later that night - if Meryl didn't beat him to it, that is.

Milly giggled, pointing across his shoulder. "I think you're the only one in here who could joke like that, Mr. Vash."

Vash turned and looked around the café, noticing for the first time the pallid faces on many of the other diners, some of whom he vaguely recognized from the party. "Huh. I guess everybody had a little too much fun last night."

"Fun, he says," moaned Meryl, who had sunk her head against the table.

----------


	4. Chapter 3 Doctor Doctor

**Chapter Three: Doctor Doctor**

----------

In spite of Vash's continued attempts to downplay his nausea, two hours later (and six trips to the bathroom between him and Meryl) convinced them all that something more than a regular hangover was at fault. At Milly's insistence they left the inn and were soon walking – or staggering, if you didn't count the tall girl – down the main street on their way to see a doctor. Not that Vash was apt to complain by that point.

They hadn't gone very far when they came upon a large crowd of people gathered in the street. Many of these people looked ill; several were even sitting on the ground. The trio noticed that the crowd continued up the street quite a way.

"I wonder why all these people are standing here?" mussed Milly.

Meryl was astounded. "I thought the festival was over! After last night, I'd have expected everyone to be sleeping in today. Do you think there's something more going on?"

Vash approached a family standing at the back of the crowd. Tapping the gentleman on the shoulder, he put on the most courteous smile that he could manage and hoped the man wouldn't find his grimace demented. "Excuse me, good sir, but could you tell me why are you standing here?"

The man – a short, humorless fellow with a pronounced mustachio and dark bags under his eyes – turned to briefly consider the gunman. "For my health," he deadpanned.

"_Ah_…" Vash laughed weakly, deciding that it would be best to just cut to the chase. "Then could you be so kind as to tell me which way is it to the nearest doctor?"

"Straight up this street, at the edge of town. You can't miss it."

"Thank you." Vash smiled gratefully, as he, Meryl and Milly started to walk on past the crowd.

Suddenly the man's wife, a short, heavyset woman with sharp eyes and deep scowl lines, leaned out to holler at them. "HEY! You three there! No cutting!"

They stopped, turning back to look at the woman in puzzlement. "Cutting?" asked Vash.

The lady gestured at the line of people. "Can't you see there's a queue here?"

"_Eh?_" Vash glanced briefly at the crowd. He then smiled apologetically. "Oh, I see what you're thinking. We're not trying to cut, ma'am; we're just going to pass on by and go see the doctor."

A little boy, the couple's son, now piped up. "But mister, this IS the line to see the doctor!"

"WHAT?" the trio blurted out. They turned to peer up the street again, where they saw the line stretch into the distance.

"What in the world?" Meryl's jaw fell open as she contemplated the size of the crowd.

"It looks like the whole town is here!" Milly cried.

Vash was dismayed. "We have to wait this long? But it'll take _hours_…."

The woman crossed her arms defiantly. "I've been waiting here myself since dawn."

"Aren't there any more doctors in this town?" Vash looked pleadingly at the couple.

The husband appeared momentarily thoughtful, then shrugged. "Well, if you're really desperate, there's always -"

"Don't talk nonsense, Harold," the angry woman snapped. "Stranger, there is only ONE doctor in Bowe's Flats, and whether you're desperate or _not_," she looked at Vash pointedly, "You'll have to wait in line with the rest of us."

"Um… okay."

So they settled down to wait.

----------

It was now midday. Long having given up on standing, Milly and Meryl were sitting back to back on the dusty plank walkway, with Vash sprawled out on the ground next to them. Milly had nodded off into a dull torpor, and Vash appeared to have died, but Meryl sat with knees crossed, one fist curled under her chin, quietly fuming. She could swear there had been no detectable movement for the past hour.

Finally she could stand it no more. "I can't believe this. How do people put up with it? We've been sitting here for hours! HOURS! Is this doctor so good that there's only _one_ in a town this size?"

She looked at the people around her and made eye contact with the irate wife from before, who stared back impassively. But Meryl was too annoyed to be intimidated.

"For Heaven's sakes, isn't there anyone else with any medical experience at all? Not even a nurse? Or a midwife? Or even a _horse doc-_"

This seemed to provoke the woman. "There is only ONE -"

"I know, I KNOW!" Meryl looked away disgustedly, and groaned in exasperation. She continued griping in a lowered voice, now more to herself than anyone present. "Good grief, even a _boy scout_ would be something. Talk about irresponsible! All this time wasted waiting just to SEE the doctor, much less get a cure! And what if there was another emergency in the meantime? What would we do if someone comes in with a gunshot wound? Or if somebody has a heart attack? Or if someone is about to give birth? Or maybe someone..."

As Meryl continued to inventory the possible medical catastrophes that could momentarily befall Bowe's Flats, Vash's eyes snapped open. He sat up with a suddenness that drew Milly's attention.

"Need to make a break for the bathroom again?" she asked him tiredly.

"Something like that…" the gunman murmured softly. He slid his sunglasses on with a calm deliberateness, and slowly got to his feet. After brushing himself off, he walked over to stand in front of Meryl, who was obliviously checking off disasters with her free hand.

Feeling herself in an unexpected shadow, Meryl looked up to see Vash towering over her. Lifting her chin up from her palm, she looked questioningly at the gunman. He had a serious, almost severe expression on his face. Reaching down, he suddenly seized her by the wrist.

Taken aback, Meryl felt her cheeks begin to redden slightly. "Eh? Vash?"

Without ceremony, Vash effortlessly pulled her to her feet, to stand before him while he grasped her firmly by the shoulders. He stared into her eyes intently, and Meryl felt her heart begin to beat wildly, conscious of the attention they were drawing from the crowd around them. She wondered briefly if he was annoyed from all her complaining. She opened her mouth, ready to apologize. Then –

"HONEY!!! I've stood here quietly for the past few hours, watching you suffer out of the goodness of your heart, waiting patiently in the heat and dust along with everyone else for your turn! But now I say _enough is enough!_" He drew a deep breath, then leaned in dramatically: "These are NO conditions for a PREGNANT WOMAN to have to endure for SO LONG!"

"_WHAT???_" several people sitting nearby blurted out, the scowling woman foremost among them.

_Gyuhhh???_ Meryl stood blinking up at Vash, floored so far beyond comprehension as to be rendered insensible. If it weren't for his grip, she was sure she would have hit the ground. As it was, she felt as if she were having an out-of-body experience: voices were jabbering incomprehensibly about her, bodies were in motion, disembodied faces fixating on hers (Vash's particularly so) – things were spiraling out of control. She was vaguely aware on some level that she should be saying something to correct this absurd situation, but just couldn't…

Was perversely unable to, while caught up in that intense green-eyed gaze…

"Meryl!" gasped Milly, who was now standing at her side, staring at her friend in open shock. "I had no idea!"

The sharp-eyed wife leaned around Vash to peer skeptically at Meryl, who was still too dumbfounded to speak. "_Pregnant?_ A little chit of a gal like yourself?" She proceeded to give Meryl a once over as if she was appraising a side of beef, and snorted derisively. "Impossible. She has no hips."

This did wonders for snapping Meryl out of her shock. She turned from Vash to stare incredulously at the woman.

"Oh, come now. You know it's not impossible, Mildred," said another lady sitting nearby. "Girls as small as her give birth all the time." The woman, an elegant matron with a long nose, turned to smile warmly at Meryl, who immediately felt a deep sense of gratitude for the lady's timely intervention. "Why, my daughter Rose gave birth just last Harvest festival, and she was always a petite girl. Of course, she had a much more delicate frame than _yours_, dearie."

Meryl took back every gracious thought she'd had.

"Huh. Well, I was just a slip of a girl myself before I had Jimmy," Mildred conceded, as privately Meryl shuddered. Then she felt a nerve in her head begin to throb when the woman leaned in again to inspect her stomach. "Hmm. Now that you mention it, Blanche, she _does_ look a little thick about the middle…."

"HEY!"

But Meryl didn't get the chance to elaborate as Milly quickly moved into the way. The tall girl caught up the smaller girl's hands, pressing them tightly between her own, and looked imploringly into her partner's eyes. "Meryl, I can't believe this! Why didn't you tell me?"

Meryl was aghast. She was ready to start screaming. At those snoopy women with their rude insinuations, at Vash – especially at Vash – for starting this mess, and now even at Milly, for actually believing such a thing. But one look at the plaintive expression in her friend's shimmering eyes gave Meryl pause for alarm. She tried to make its meaning out: an odd amalgamation of surprise, of concern, of… of…

_What is it? Despair? Anger? … Jealousy?_

Meryl opened her mouth uselessly, suddenly at a loss for what to say as she felt an inexplicable surge of guilt wash over her. She barely registered Vash hurriedly hugging her around the shoulders, pulling her in close. "Well, Milly, we weren't too sure ourselves until just recently. We've been trying to keep it a secret…."

He began to laugh in an overly high, nervous way while Meryl hung her head, sweating. Milly fell silent, glancing between them.

Mildred looked rather put out. "Oh, for Heaven's sakes, boy, why didn't you say something before? A pregnant woman's health is no laughing matter!"

Vash stopped laughing, and glanced penitently around at the crowd. "Then would you all mind terribly if I escorted my… ah… _wife_ up to the doctor's office now?"

Mildred snorted derisively. "Hmph. Get on with you. I'm not insensitive, you know." She shuffled off into the middle of the street, not noticing Meryl narrowing her eyes as Vash ran a hand through his hair sheepishly. Raising her hands to her mouth, the stocky woman soon had everyone's attention. "ALL RIGHT, EVERYBODY, LISTEN UP!!! MAKE WAY – PREGNANT LADY COMING THROUGH!!!"

The sea of faces turned around, parting neatly down the middle, and what seemed a thousand pairs of eyes zeroed in on the expectant couple. It was almost too much; Meryl felt her touchy stomach begin to churn threateningly again. As she stood there immobilized, she felt Vash link his arm through hers. Looking up, she felt him lightly squeeze her hand, a half-embarrassed grin upon his face.

"Well, honey, shall we?"

"Vash, I… I… _uuuurk!_"

Little Jimmy leaned around his mother's side. "_Ooo_… I didn't think she had that much room in her!"

----------

The lone doctor's office of Bowe's Flats was a small, unpretentious building that Meryl strongly suspected doubled for living quarters at night. A plain wooden plaque labeled "T. S. Wilde, MD" hung from the door outside. Inside, the waiting room (which was really no more than a narrow hallway with a bench and a coat rack) was so small that Milly, insisting she was fine, had opted to wait for them outside. So Vash and Meryl were left alone to share the bench in tense silence, Meryl with her head in her hands, Vash fidgeting nervously next to her.

"Aw, c'mon Meryl; it was the fastest way we could get in," Vash finally whispered.

"But why did it have to be _that_ way?" she hissed back.

Just then the door opened. A neat, youthful-looking man with spectacles and a white vest stepped into the room. He looked tired and disheveled, yet he seemed pleasant enough as he silently beckoned the pair within. Meryl guessed him to be in his early thirties.

As they passed into a larger room, Meryl was struck by how unconventional this office was from others of her experience. Pausing just within the doorway, she gaped a few moments as she took in its decor. An oversize desk loaded down with papers commanded the middle of the room, while a threadbare couch stood against the wall opposite. Shelves of books with portraits and plaques hanging in the spaces between lined the walls. Assorted bric-a-brac was scattered throughout. _It's more like a private study than an examination room_, she mussed as she eyed old lace curtains filtering diffuse light into the room. Then hearing a soft cough, Meryl hurriedly seated herself on the couch.

"Good day. I am Dr. Thomas Wilde." The man smiled pleasantly from his chair behind the desk as he looked first from Meryl to Vash, who had taken up position leaning back against the closed door. "You appear to be visitors to Bowe's Flats. I don't believe I recognize you. Or else I've been cooped up in this office for too long."

His gaze settled expectantly on Meryl again, who was distractedly examining a forming hole in the couch's fabric. Realizing she was being addressed, she hastily spoke up. "Nice to meet you, Dr. Wilde. My name is Meryl Stryfe – uh..." _Oops_, Meryl thought, _Too late_. She had used her own name without thinking. Casting Vash a panicked look, she wondered if she had just ruined their cover story. But the gunman only casually glanced at her before addressing the doctor.

"And my name is Vash, Dr. Wilde." He smiled happily, adding with more heartfelt candor than he realized, "It's really great to meet you!"

"Vash? Unusual name...," Dr. Wilde suddenly frowned. "Isn't that the same as that of the infamous outlaw Vash the Stampede?"

"Yeah, I get that all the time!" Vash laughed nervously as Meryl felt her stomach begin to knot. "I have no idea why!"

"_Hmm_. Well, in any case…," He had turned to look at Meryl before twisting back towards Vash again, and finally sighed, rubbing his neck. "I think I'm getting a muscle cramp. Wouldn't you like to take a seat with your wife, Mr. Stryfe?"

Surprised, Vash nearly fell over when his foot lost its hold on the wall. "Er, yeah…" Scratching his head, the gunman slunk sheepishly over to take a seat next to a pink-faced Meryl, who attempted to slide over as nonchalantly as possible without falling off the couch.

"Well, that's better. Now, as I was saying –."

Meryl, however, couldn't restrain herself anymore. "Just a moment! Excuse me for asking, Dr. Wilde, but…," Her eyes focused on the mountain of papers. "Are you really all alone? Don't you even have a nurse?"

Dr. Wilde appeared momentarily taken aback, but then slowly nodded soberly. "As a matter of fact, I did, at one time. She was more of a partner than a nurse, actually. But she died." He templed his fingers as he leaned forward on the desk, smiling ruefully. "I haven't been able to find a suitable one since."

"_Oh!_ I'm… sorry," murmured Meryl, feeling suddenly foolish. "I didn't mean to pry."

"It's all right. It's perfectly understandable that you should ask. And it was some time ago."

"But then…," Meryl looked at him with mixed concern and confusion. "It's just that with all this work; all these people who need your help – aren't you feeling overwhelmed?"

Dr. Wilde chuckled. "I'm afraid you've been given a false impression! It's not always like this in Bowe's Flats – far from it! I'm proud to say that we are actually a very healthy community in normal conditions. I've made sure of that."

Wearing a satisfied smile, Dr. Wilde continued on in a self-assured manner as he got up to pace about the room. "In times past, Bowe's Flats had its share of ailments and outbreaks, much of it due to our own backward thinking and outdated remedies. We're a little isolated from the larger cities; we had to make do with our limited resources for a long time." His face took on a dark expression, "Because of this, many of our citizens have needlessly fallen victim to injury and plague over the years. But now with modern medicine and improved public health care we've overcome that." He stopped pacing, staring off at nothing. "With regular care, people can expect to live out their normal lifespans – not have them cut short because of inadequate medical attention and dangerous, obsolete practices."

Dr. Wilde turned to face them, and Meryl noticed that his face appeared relaxed again. "Also, a lot of the people I'm treating today are visitors like you, not just residents, come in for the festival. I'm usually kept quite busy, but it's not more than I can handle."

_It's still an unusual arrangement, though_, Meryl thought. "But even so…," she hedged, unable to repress a nagging curiosity, "Why haven't there been more doctors attracted to Bowe's Flats besides you?"

"Well, I guess that might be a bit my fault. I suppose it may be because other doctors have found it hard establishing practices here. I have a _very_ loyal client base."

"Wow," said Vash, finally piping up. "I'm impressed. You must be some doctor!"

"Just popular, I guess." He shrugged nonchalantly. "But enough about that. Aren't you here because of your condition?"

Vash immediately perked up. "Yes, _yes_, of course we are! Dr. Wilde, we've been feeling sick since we woke up this morning and –."

"Ah yes, let me guess: splitting headache, bouts of nausea, interspersed with vomiting and diar- ."

"Er, _yeah_," Vash hurriedly interrupted him. "So you heard about it?"

"It's been going around," Dr. Wilde commented wryly. "Not uncommon after a day of festivities. Especially for those who have indulged perhaps a bit more than their systems could take."

"Um, r-right. So… got anything for it?"

"Yes, of course, but before we get to that – what about your other condition?"

They looked back at him in confusion. "What other condition?"

Dr. Wilde frowned in puzzlement. "I heard a bit of a commotion outside just before you two came in. Something about being pregnant?"

Meryl noticed out the corner of her eye that Vash had immediately turned aside to casually examine one of the assorted medical instruments lying on a nearby shelf. She felt a nerve begin to throb in her head. Again.

_Vash, you big, dumb, gutless… IDIOT!!!_

"Oh! That! Aha ha, well, it's just that my…" – Meryl gritted her teeth – "_husband_ made a mistake and got a little carried away. It's… it's just…." She felt her throat suddenly go dry, as her voice dropped to almost a whisper. "It's really too soon to tell."

Meryl heard Vash fumbling with something, then felt a strange object land against her feet. The gunman made an odd strangling sound. She looked down.

It was a pair of forceps.

She felt the fabric tearing slightly beneath her fingernails.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that. You'd be surprised at how quickly a pregnancy can progress." He gave them both a reassuring smile. "Tell me, when was the last time you…?"

"UH! Well, I… we…." Meryl flinched, feeling the blood in her face racing up the thermostat, as next to her Vash appeared to have gone rigid. She could hardly believe she was having this conversation. How could she say, _"Well, Dr. Wilde, to be perfectly honest, up until yesterday I would have said it was utterly impossible, but today I'm not even sure if anything happened?"_ She stared down at the floor, wishing for a hole to magically open and swallow her up. And take the big mute lump sitting next to her also.

Dr. Wilde observed the agitated pair with mild astonishment, noticing that both had gone the exact shade of the gunman's coat. He smiled slightly. _Newlyweds_. Turning away to fondly contemplate a lithograph on his desk, he remarked, "Well, I'm sure you both know the answer to that. What's important is that you're aware of the possibility and are taking precautions to ensure a safe pregnancy."

Meryl was startled when Vash vocalized her next question. "But c'mon, Doc, what's the big deal? Isn't this kind of fuss all a little… premature?" She could tell by the slight tenseness in his voice that the gunman also seemed to be searching for reassurance.

Oddly, that annoyed her even more.

Dr. Wilde began to pace again, clearly warming to his subject. "We have a motto we've been trying to impress upon the public: pregnancy begins _before_ conception. While it may seem a little extreme, it's because people just don't realize just how critical the first few weeks are. It's true that we haven't yet regained all the medical advancements of our ancestors, but we do know a lot about the early stages of fetal development. Even as early as a day…."

As Dr. Wilde droned on, Vash clinging to his every word, Meryl found her thoughts drifting off.

_Pregnant_. It was not something that she was prepared to think about. Pregnant was for… well, for women who knew what they wanted with their life and where they were going. Not for confused girls chasing hopelessly mixed up guys across an eternal wasteland, both of them searching for… for God only knew.

She sighed.

And yet… what would it be like to have a baby?

She could remember holding and comforting countless children on their travels – Vash had a knack for attracting them – and recalling how surprisingly good it made her feel. Wanted. Needed. _Maternal_. It had astonished her how easily she took to that role. What would it be like having one of her own? What would it be like carrying… Vash's?

She could almost imagine something moving inside… pushing… clamoring for attention… _Eh?_

Meryl realized in horror that while she was distracted, Vash had moved to kneel on the floor next her, the side of his head pressed firmly against her stomach. He had a look of bewildered wonderment on his face as he listened to Dr. Wilde with rapt attention. "_Really?_ You guys can tell all that so soon?"

Meryl hurriedly knocked Vash away as Dr. Wilde turned back to face them. He fixed them both with a grave expression. "Pregnancies are nothing to take lightly, Mr. and Mrs. Stryfe. The first months are the most critical. And the earlier you know, the better."

He leaned over to open a desk drawer and pulled out a large, green bottle, which he passed to Meryl. She turned the bottle over to read the label: _Wilde Thomas Olde Tyme Tea Tonic_.

"Wilde…?" she murmured.

"Bottled right here in Bowe's Flats. My own secret cure-all remedy. It will clear up your nausea and revitalize your body. Mind you, that's the last one."

Meryl looked over at Vash, who was eagerly staring at her with huge puppy dog eyes. She could practically hear him mentally screaming at her: _Take it, Meryl! Take it and let's get the heck out of here!!!_

She smiled gratefully. "Oh, thank you so much, Dr. Wilde! I'll be sure to drink it as soon as I get back to my hotel – ."

He frowned. "Oh, no, I'm afraid that won't do. You need to get some medicine in you right away, young lady. Now please, drink up."

"But…!" She glanced worriedly at Vash, who seemed to be on the verge of a heart attack. "What about our nausea? Don't you have something for that?"

"For that you should be sure to get plenty of rest and fluids. I would also give you some tonic, but as this is the last bottle I have in stock, I insist that _you_ take it, Miss." He looked over at Vash, "For the sake of your unborn child's safety. I'm sure you understand."

Meryl sighed and drank it all, carefully avoiding Vash's shock-ridden face.

Dr. Wilde appeared satisfied. "Good, good. Now, if you please – I have other patients to attend to…."

"_So… cruel…._" Vash whimpered, as Dr. Thomas quickly ushered the perplexed duo out the door.

----------


	5. Chapter 4 Dance Moves

**Chapter Four: Dance Moves**

----------

A woman emerged from the café and began to weave among the seated clientele. If the heat of the day was wearing on her, she didn't show it as she swiftly swayed along, coming to a stop before a table at the far end of the sheltered courtyard. She nodded to her patrons in acknowledgment as she sized up their orders.

"Here ya'll go – a Super Colossal Hot Fudge Sundae with extra fudge, extra nuts, extra whip cream, and all the trimmings…."

"_Mine!_" Milly's eyes gleamed like polished marbled as she ogled the oozing concoction set before her. Meryl, whose appetite was only slowly starting to return, felt her stomach heave slightly. How Milly handled it, she'd never know.

"A small graniti and an iced tea with a twist of mint."

"That's mine," Meryl replied. "Thank you."

The waitress stooped over to heft her third item into view. "And a large bucket of water. No ice."

"_His_." The insurance agents pointed at Vash, who had collapsed face down against the table.

The waitress eyed him, clucking disapprovingly. "Ugh. Honey, you should go see a doctor." When the gunman failed to respond, she shook her head and turned back to Meryl. "Well, let me know if you gals need anything. Refills, napkins," – glancing sidelong at Vash – "A _hose_," she added, before turning to leave.

It was now mid-afternoon. They had scoured every shop and saloon in Bowe's Flats and not a single bottle of Wilde's tonic was left in the town – shopkeepers reported there had been a rush early that morning and they didn't expect a new shipment until the following day. Finally, Milly declared she was famished and insisted that they stop to eat. Meryl, worn out herself and increasingly concerned about Vash's sagging disposition, had readily agreed.

Now, as Milly happily dug into her sundae, Meryl glanced worriedly over at Vash's squashed face as she poked a spoon into her order. "Please have a little something to drink at least, Vash." When the man still failed to respond, she sighed. "I'm sorry, Vash," she murmured softly for his ears alone. "I tried to save some…."

Vash immediately roused himself. "S'kay, Meryl. Really…." Hauling himself upright, he unsteadily grabbed the bucket and placed it on the ground between his bent knees. "Pregnant women have to take care of themselves," he added off-handedly with a weak laugh before plunging his head fully in, not noticing Meryl stirring uncomfortably and Milly looking up.

Meryl scowled at the blond's backside. _That's not funny, Vash_. But her frown dissolved as she recalled Dr. Wilde's comments. _Though maybe you're not trying to be._ She trembled anew, as she felt Milly's gaze fall on her.

"Is that what the doctor told you?" Milly asked.

Before Meryl could answer, Vash straightened up, weakly brushing a hand back over now flattened hair. "Well, more or less…."

"Oh."

There followed an uncomfortable pause as everyone involved themselves in their orders. Meryl picked idly at her ice, wondering how she was going to talk to Milly about all this when she had yet to speak to Vash. The uncertainty was frustrating. _If only I could have it out with Vash, right now. Then I could know once and for all…_ She felt the silence at the table growing increasingly uncomfortable, pressing in on her from all sides, almost… _expectant_. And wasn't there a word for that? A 'pregnant' pause? She didn't notice that small flecks of ice were beginning to spray out of her bowl. _For Heaven's sake, say something, Stryfe. Talk about the food, talk about the weather, talk about anything but –_

"So what did you dream about last night?"

It was Milly who spoke, as she scooped a large fudgy mass into her mouth. Meryl was unsure, but she thought she could detect the faint traces of a blush developing on her friend's cheeks while she calmly ate. She felt an unpleasant twinge as she pondered anew if there was something Milly wasn't letting on and shot her a suspicious glance.

But Milly was looking at Vash, who was momentarily befuddled. "Well, I, uh…," he hemmed, uncertain how to respond. Like Meryl, Vash had been letting his mind wander back over the events of the previous evening – or his vague impressions of them, at least. He knew that what he had done that morning hadn't really helped his situation with Meryl, though at the time it seemed like a good idea. But since the talk with Dr. Wilde other things had weighed on his conscience. Unnerving things. He had to know how much of his dream… wasn't. Only then could he –

_Why_ couldn't he remember clearly what had happened? (Damn bet!) Vash shuddered: Meryl would be furious with him when she found out he couldn't really remember anything. If only there was a way to find out without tipping Meryl off. But regardless of the consequences, Vash knew what he really needed now more than anything was to simply talk to Meryl. _If only I could do it without Milly overhearing… without Milly…going over Milly…._

A plan began to form in his mind.

Glancing between both women, Vash gave one of his boyish, self-conscience laughs. "What I was dreaming?" he repeated, playing for time while he reviewed his idea. He decided it was worth a shot. Shrugging casually, he said in a lazy drawl, "Ahhh, you don't want to know. You'll just laugh."

Milly was intrigued. "Oh, Mr. Vash! You know we would never do that! Please tell us? Pretty please?" She pressed her palms together in a gesture of earnest supplication.

Vash carefully kept his eyes fixed on the table as he felt Milly's eyes boring into him, wondering if Meryl would pick up on his cues. She was surprisingly good at that sometimes. _Oh well, here goes…._ He looked up at Milly. "Oh, all right. Last night I dreamt I was...," he smoothly turned away to look Meryl directly in the eyes, raising his voice ever so slightly. "_Dancing_."

But Meryl was staring down into her mostly demolished graniti, determinedly trying to avoid all conversation involving the previous night. Disgruntled, Vash loudly cleared his throat, finally drawing her attention.

_What the-? He's blushing!_ Meryl observed, one eyebrow arching curiously. It arched even further when Vash, close to glaring, again intoned, "I SAID I DREAMED THAT I WAS DANCING LAST NIGHT, MERYL!"

Both brows arched as Meryl finally realized what he was trying to do. _Clever, Vash – even if you're about as subtle as a brick_. She supposed Vash never would have dared such ridiculously obvious double talk were Wolfwood sitting there. Then sudden realization lanced through her as the full implications of his words dawned on her. Her heart began to beat faster as she felt her face warming. Never mind Vash – _she_ certainly wouldn't have dared it.

Meryl wanted to sink back in her chair, to take a moment and process what he had just indirectly said. She had been stubbornly demanding incontrovertible proof all morning; now, here it was. Vash was all but telling her that _he_, at least, clearly remembered what had happened. She felt a further prick of guilt that she didn't; Vash would be hurt when he found out. _If_ he found out, Meryl amended. She needed to think about what it all meant but couldn't: Vash was staring holes through her. He seemed to need acknowledgment, though why she had no idea. Fighting to compose herself, Meryl struggled for a response. This was embarrassing. "That's ironic," she finally exclaimed in a voice like a stage whisper, "I- I think I…," – she swallowed thickly – "Dreamed about the same thing, too!"

_I… see_, Vash thought as he watched Meryl laughing in a high, phony voice. _She remembers. It wasn't just a dream, after all._ The air seemed to go out of him; he sagged back in his seat, thoughts racing in several directions. Like Meryl, he needed some time to think about her words. What it would mean for him – for them. _Well, what do you know_, he mused idly as his thoughts began to drift. _Another one of your brilliant plans has paid off. _

"Really?" Milly's voice broke in, as she looked interestedly between her dazed companions. "You both dreamed the same thing? Imagine what a coincidence that must be! Meryl and I have been traveling together for months now and we've never once shared a dream. Maybe it means something if both you and Meryl dreamed the same thing, Mr. Vash!"

Then again, maybe it was not such a brilliant plan after all.

Milly seemed thoroughly fascinated by the subject. She leaned forward, eager to interrogate them further. "So, do you both remember what kind of dance was it?"

_How am I supposed to answer that?_ thought two heads simultaneously while the third wondered if she had enough room for seconds. For a few moments nothing was said as Vash and Meryl waited, each hoping the other would speak first.

"Well? Don't either of you remember?" Milly prompted, confused by their silence.

That seemed to provoke a reaction. Milly watched in bemusement as Vash and Meryl suddenly looked at each other, then jerked away to stare down at the table.

"The dance? Um, well, it was sort of…." Meryl knitted her brows. _Think! What would make an appropriate analogy?_

"It was kinda, you know, kinda…," Vash shrugged helplessly. _Better make it sound good._

"What's the name…?"

"Give me a moment, it's on the tip of my tongue…!"

"Oh, silly me, it was a _waltz!_" Meryl smacked her forehead. "What else is like a wal-."

"Yeah, it was a _tango!_" Vash nodded enthusiastically. "Definitely a tang-… _guh_…."

Preoccupied with licking her spoon, Milly didn't see her friends exchanging puzzled glances. _What the heck does he mean by that?_ Meryl wondered. Vash thought much the same.

Milly tilted her head thoughtfully. "_Hmm_… those dances aren't very much alike are they? A waltz is very graceful and slow, with both partners moving in harmony across the floor. And a tango is much more… energetic." She smiled, preparing to eat another spoonful. "Oh well, I guess you two couldn't have been dance partners, then!"

She did not notice her audience flinching. In particular, she did not notice her partner quickly working herself into a snit.

"Now WAIT a minute!" Meryl cried indignantly, forgetting herself as she wheeled on the startled gunman. "What do you mean it was a _tango?_ That was nothing like a –!" She caught herself, coughing loudly until she had regained enough composure to continue stiffly on. "What I _mean_ is, Milly brought up a rather interesting point, Vash. What was it that made you – that is, what was it about your DREAM that made you think it was THAT kind of dance?"

Vash squirmed. "It went kinda fast."

Wrong, wrong answer.

_Good thing I didn't say it was a mambo_, thought Vash as he quivered under the black look Meryl was sending him.

Milly was satisfied enough to move on. "Anyway, what was your partner like, Mr. Vash?"

"Um… she was… she was very…," Vash suppressed the impulse to look Meryl, desperately racking his brain for a fitting description. It was not that he hadn't given the subject previous thought; he had, on quite a few occasions, though not always in a flattering way. At least, it had been like that at first. Now, however….

_C'mon, pick a feature, idiot!_ It was hard to focus with Meryl sitting right there staring at him. As with all high-pressure situations calling for quick thinking, Vash found himself running with the first thought that came immediately to mind:

"She was short. Real… _short_." He gave a weak laugh.

A nerve throbbed deep inside Meryl's brain.

"And what was your dance partner like, Meryl?"

"Well…," The Short One smiled tightly as she swirled the icy slosh in her dish, resisting the urge to upend it over a certain blond's head. "I think my partner was rather… _thin_." Meryl folded her arms, as if satisfied with her assessment. "Yes, that's what I'd call him. Thin."

"Oh, I see." Milly seemed faintly disappointed by the lack of detail. "Then –."

"Come to think of it, Milly," Vash interrupted as he casually stretched his legs, "_My_ partner was kinda on the underdeveloped side."

"He was the scrawny type," Meryl added airily. "A real beanpole."

"Runty, even."

"Weakling."

"_Bitchy_."

"_Blond_."

"Wow, Mr. Vash, Meryl – it sounds just like you're describing people I know! Gee, I wonder who they could be…?"

They immediately shut up, though not without casting peevish glances at Milly.

Unfazed, the tall girl forged on. "Well, at least tell me what was dancing with her like, Mr. Vash."

Though wearying of the topic, Vash nearly smiled. He could almost feel Meryl seizing up. It was too good an opportunity to pass up. Never mind the foggy details – all that was needed here was insinuation. Let Meryl work out the particulars later. "Mmm. Now that I think about it, Milly, I must say on the whole she was really… _really_…."

"Really what?" asked Milly while Meryl slowly narrowed her eyebrows.

"Enthusiastic. It was all I could do to keep up with her. And her moves! They were _sooo_… what's the word?"

"Dignified," inserted Meryl through clenched teeth.

"More like athletic," countered Vash. "Yeah, she was all over m-… er, the dance floor." He eyed Meryl knowingly, beginning to enjoy her impotent fury. "In fact, I honestly don't think I've ever seen such footwork in all my life."

"You mean – she didn't step on your toes?" wondered Milly, puzzling over his words.

"She didn't get the chance," muttered Meryl darkly.

"Actually, Ms. Stryfe, I am an excellent judge of technique, I'll have you know." He couldn't hold back the grin any longer. "And I know there are a few things I could teach you."

"Oh, really? Have you had a lot of dance partners, Mr. Vash?"

_Oh, yeah, loads_. Unbidden, the words had leapt automatically to his tongue. Never mind that it was an exaggeration. A gross one. Such braggadocio was natural to him, a part of his image for so long that he had long ceased noticing – or caring – when he felt the need to play up the crowd. His mouth was already open, set to deliver what was sure to be a killer line as he turned to catch a certain brunette's eye. But then something unexpected caused them to die outright.

That stricken look which suddenly appeared in Meryl's blue-gray eyes.

The air escaping though his lips as he slowly pressed them together sounded like a faint sigh, and Vash found himself staring back down at the table again, almost ashamed. "Well, actually, Milly… I haven't really… had…." He mumbled the last part.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Vash, what was that you said?"

He slowly brought his head back up, his voice growing more serious as he glanced between the two agents. "Back when I was really young, I remember being taught some basic steps to a few dances by Rem." Vash paused, conscious of the astonished looks on both Milly and Meryl's faces: even now, he rarely ever spoke about that period of his life. "There were times when we didn't have much to do for fun, and that's mostly when she taught us. Her favorite was a waltz. I guess I always liked something a little faster."

Vash quickly looked over at Meryl, hoping she wouldn't take that the wrong way, but to his relief she was watching him with thoughtful eyes. "But I really haven't danced all that much since those days. Not the same way, I mean."

"Oh," murmured Meryl softly, causing the gunman to perk up a little. At least she wasn't angry with him anymore.

"Yeah… it's kind of hard to practice without a regular partner." Vash smiled wryly, yet with more real pleasure than he had all day. "Since then, most of what I've picked up I learned on my own, by watching."

Milly, however, was perplexed. "But if you dance by yourself all the time, Mr. Vash, how can you possibly be any good at it?"

"ENOUGH about our dreams, Milly," Meryl broke in, desperately desiring to turn the subject away from anything involving bodily movements. "What did _you_ dream about?"

To her surprise, Milly immediately developed a dreamy look on her face. "It's weird. But it was a really good one, though." Meryl noticed that she had again adopted a slightly coy look. "I dreamed I was standing in a huge field of grass, just like in one of those pictures from a history book. Everywhere you looked, there were trees and grass and plants, covering everything. I was a little girl again and there were blooming flowers everywhere, in all kinds of colors. I was picking them, making a bouquet with them, and I wasn't alone…." Her voice trailed off as a languid smile touched her face. "I've never had a dream like that before, though."

"Well, I guess dreaming about fields of grass is a little odd, but certainly nothing terrible." Meryl smiled, picturing the scene herself. "To be honest, it sounds like a real nice dream."

"Actually, it wasn't the dream that I thought was strange. It was that immediately after waking up I felt this great wave of nausea and got sick in the hallway." Her eyes grew puzzled. "I wonder what I was doing in the hallway…?"

Meryl hastily interrupted her. "_Wait_ – you were sick this morning, too, Milly?" She bit her lip; it was on the tip of her tongue to add "_So why didn't you say anything to me?_" But that hardly seemed fair anymore.

"Yes, I threw up when I woke up, and then I couldn't find my keys to get into the room." Milly looked embarrassed while Meryl nervously fiddled with her spoon. "But then I went downstairs and bought some tea to drink. And I felt much better by the time you came down. I guess throwing up right away wasn't so bad; Big Sis said it was always best to just get it all out as soon as possible."

"Miracle tea," mussed Meryl. "Lucky for us." She turned back to Vash, her expression softening in spite of her rather recent annoyance with him. He still looked awful. "If only there was a way we could get our hands on some more of it."

"Oh! Maybe there is!" Milly leaned back in her chair and raised her hand to call over their waitress, who readily approached. "Miss, you wouldn't happen to have any Wilde's tonic available?" she asked when the woman drew near.

"Sorry. We sold out all of ours this morning, or else ah'd've offered," she replied, tilting her chin towards Vash, who again appeared to be on the verge of face planting into the table.

"Then," Meryl asked on a sudden whim, "Do you know if there is anyone here in town who has medical expertise? Anyone besides Dr. Wilde, that is?"

The waitress hesitated, then twisted her head back over her shoulder to glance at the nearest table. Satisfied that no one seemed to be minding them, she turned back and shrugged. "Well, no actual doctors that I know of, but there used to be a witch that – ."

"Excuse me, did you say a _witch?_"

"Well, that's what everyone calls her. I don't know if she really is one or not. Anyway, if I recall she used to treat people years ago. Or poison them. Or was it that she sold phony love charms…?"

"Er… _love charms?_" Meryl wondered if she had heard her right.

"Charms, curses, something like that. Weird cures. She made potions, in any case. There was some kind of uproar over it." The waitress idly chewed on her pencil as she tried to remember. "But it was before I came here, so all I know is hearsay. Anyway, you'd kind of have to be desperate to go to her."

"Desperate?" Milly repeated.

"_Real_ desperate," the woman replied, as if that explanation was sufficient of itself.

"Do you know where she lives?" Vash broke in. He had pulled himself up straight again, a determined glint in his eye.

"Hey, just wait a minute, Vash –!" Meryl interjected, but the gunman kept his gaze fixed on the other woman.

"Just tell me where. _Please_."

The waitress cocked an eyebrow. "Last I knew she lived on the south end of town, not far from the old underground cistern."

"Great. Let's go see that so-called witch. But before we go –," Vash's face dissolved into a grimace. He suddenly lifted up his empty bucket and held it out to the waitress. "Can I get a refill?"

She curled her lip. "Ya want I should make room at the water trough for you?"

----------


	6. Chapter 5 Afternoon Tea

**Chapter Five: Afternoon Tea**

----------

The trip to the south side of Bowe's Flats was uneventful, marked only by a few strange looks whenever they stopped to ask unwilling townsfolk for directions. Passing beyond the city limits, the trio followed a path that crested a ridge and wound down along the side of a dry gulch, its waters having long receded into the earth. All three pairs of eyes scoured cliff side and chasm looking for their target, but after some time when nothing came into sight they began to wonder if they had missed an important detail. Not that this was a problem, reasoned Vash: something as unusual as a witch's house couldn't be hard to spot. If that were true, Meryl rebuffed, they certainly would have already found it.

The ensuing argument echoed strangely in the pass, causing Milly's stomach to grumble in sympathy as she peered down into the steadily widening gorge. Examining the banded cliff sides, she noticed that their color striations reminded her of layered pudding. Pleased with this idea, Milly let her mind wander fancifully (_chocolate! – vanilla! – caramel! – butterscotch!)_ as she idly traced the slopes, unmindful of her companions slowly falling behind. She was somewhat amused when the walls suddenly widened into the shape of a pudding bowl – a natural cistern – and then to her surprise the pathway was at an end. She came to an abrupt standstill, Vash and Meryl far too absorbed in each other to notice. Which was really just as well, as had it not been for Vash's timely if unintentional trip over the ledge they would have missed the house entirely.

Even had they not been interested in meeting its notorious owner, Meryl wouldn't have been able to help gaping. She had never seen a dugout before: it was not a popular style, even if some insisted that it was more suited to the harsh environment of their world. Mostly embedded in the side of the cliff, its front walls protruded from the rock only about to the height of Meryl's hips. Stairs hewn from the embankment descended to the doorway. It had the overall appearance of a house sunk in quicksand, then half buried by a landslide for good measure. Which was, Meryl realized, not a particularly reassuring description.

"I suppose that's one way to live," Milly mused.

_If you love dirt and dark places, _thought Meryl as she watched Vash walk down the steps to knock on the door. They waited a few moments, but no one appeared.

"Maybe nobody's home," Meryl called to Vash. He merely set his jaw and knocked again, harder. There was still no response.

"What should we do now, Meryl?" Milly asked after several minutes of watching Vash alternate between banging on and pleading with the door. She looked up over the lip of the canyon: the second sun was about to slip beneath the rim. "We came all this way and no one was home. And it will be getting dark in here soon."

Meryl looked hastily at Vash, who looked mutinous enough to set up camp for the night right there. "Come on, Vash; Milly is right. This is pointless, so let's just go. Maybe we can go back to Dr. Wilde and see if we can't get our hands on some more of that tea tonic or at least –."

She was getting ready to physically drag him away when suddenly the door behind them was thrown open and a woman came out onto the stoop. The failing sunlight revealed a square face lined with age, salt-and-pepper hair pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck, and a pair of ice water blue eyes squinting intently at them. Meryl felt unnerved.

"Did you folks say tea tonic?"

Mute, Vash nodded.

"Come in." Leaving the door open, she disappeared within the darkened house.

Glancing wordlessly at each other, the trio went inside.

----------

The interior of the dwelling was nothing like the outside. They had stepped into a large room, which to Meryl seemed spacious although Vash was practically scraping the ceiling. A series of angled, rectangular skylights in the roof allowed sunlight to filter in, and though somewhat dark it was nevertheless pleasantly cool. A slightly dank odor was masked by the pleasing smell wafting out to them from a kettle bubbling on an old-fashioned stove in one corner. A loom and spinning wheel, with several skeins of yarn in a basket, stood in another. Dried herbs and plants hung from the ceiling, and several dark bottles lined the shelves and floor. Though modest, Meryl was struck by just how neat and _clean_ everything looked, and she immediately felt at ease – orderliness had that effect on her.

The woman gestured them to sit at a table near the stove, which Vash gratefully accepted – anything to avoid braining himself on a ceiling beam. Attracted by the kettle, Milly took the chair nearest while Meryl unconsciously slid in next to Vash, eyes still studying the layout. Though she felt moderately comfortable, something about the room had been gnawing at her mind since first entering. What was it that didn't quite seem _right_…?

"No electricity?!" Meryl suddenly exclaimed, drawing Milly and Vash's attention to the lack of any discernible wiring or electrical apparatus. She wondered how she could have missed such an obvious detail.

Their hostess, who appeared to be the somber type, gave a thin smile as she moved to light a thick centerpiece candle. "And not likely to see it, least not while I'm living here. This house was made in such a way to take care of its own needs. Besides…," She set out a few teacups and moved to check on the kettle. "We rely on the Plants too much."

"What do you mean by that?" Vash's questioning tone was mild, but his face had gone neutral. Meryl reached out surreptitiously to place a hand on his thigh. There was a slight tenseness in the muscles.

"Don't get me wrong. I know that without the Plants we none of us would be around to talk about it. I'm not unaware or unappreciative of that. But all the same, I think we don't do enough for ourselves."

Intrigued, Vash turned to the woman. It was odd hearing such a sentiment coming from a human's mouth and not his brother's. "But how would you survive? You can't do it without the Plants – no water, no power, no atmospheric conversion –" Vash paused, noticing the probing look Meryl was giving him. "It's impossible," he finished.

"Impossible, eh? That may be so…," She dropped a handful of small dried berries into the kettle, stirring it. "Then again, it may just be that no one's really trying hard enough."

Seeing the skeptical looks on her guests' faces, she elaborated. "People don't pay enough attention to their environments. They don't look for the little things they can do to help themselves. And yes, there _are_ things they can do. Take this house for starters – it cools itself naturally because it's been built into the ground. Lighting comes from the suns during the day and lanterns at night. We're situated on top of an ancient water vein, so I have a well that pumps my water directly up while the town gets its water from further up the vein." She gestured around at the strings of dried vegetation. "See these plants? Most of them are xerophytic hybrids that I've grown myself, in this planet's very own Godforsaken soil, without the help of special hydroponic equipment. They're meager looking but good to eat, and most of them are medicinal, too. I've found I can use them in a variety of ways."

As she spoke, Meryl examined a nearby plate of some odd, musty-smelling thing that looked like shriveled fungus and from there drew eyes along the shelves of bottles. Unusual house, unusual ideas – unusual in every sense, it appeared. She felt a growing sense of respect for the woman. What she had accomplished on her own was no mean feat, if what she said was true.

"No, I'm not at the point where I can survive on my own. Maybe I never will be. But I get by fairly well, just the same. Others could do the same."

"But don't you think that's asking _too_ much, especially on a world like this?" Vash countered, a bit unsteadily, surprising himself by his hesitance to play Devil's advocate. He did not care to admit that some of what this woman said made sense, resonated with a part of his psyche he had kept buried for years and yet… "People can't help being what they are. If they – if _we_ – need the Plants to enable us to survive, why shouldn't we use them?" A vision of Knives' sneering face flashed before him, and Vash felt his voice grow firmer. "People have a right to live. You can't condemn an entire race to extinction for the sake of another."

He felt Meryl's hand contracting suddenly, a sympathetic gesture, he knew, but one that caused him to fall silent, feeling as if he'd said too much. But the woman merely snorted. "Another _race_? I don't know if I'd paint it in such dramatic terms as you, young man, but basically that is my same point. I want to live. I want our race to survive. But I'd feel much better knowing we could do it without our existence so contingent upon the fate of the Plants."

"But there's nothing wrong with the Plants," Milly broke in. "They've been running ever since our ancestors first got here, and it's already been over one hundred years."

"But Milly, that's the –," Meryl began, but was interrupted by the woman.

"I suppose we don't know much about them. Left to their own devices they may even outlive us all by centuries yet, but I seriously doubt it. Plants still need engineers to maintain them, and even then sometimes it's not enough. But I do know this: whatever else they are, they're also man-made. And man-made things _break down_." Meryl removed her hand as Vash's knee gave an involuntary jerk, while the woman placidly poured liquid from the kettle into a teapot. "It is my experience that _nothing_ in existence lives forever. Not people. Not even Plants. One of these fine days they'll all go out. And then what will we do?"

"Rescue ships will come before then," Vash blurted out. "I mean, that's what everyone _says_ will happen…."

For a moment nothing more was said as everyone's thoughts drifted to that age-old promise. Someday, their parents told them, as had their own parents before. Someday ships would come from afar, traversing the endless void to reach this torrid planet and take them all away to lush worlds of gentle climes, with green fields full of growing things. _Salvation from above_, as Wolfwood might say: the long-awaited Exodus to the Promised Land. An apocryphal prophecy. A child's tale.

_A beautiful dream_, thought Meryl as she watched Milly's contemplative expression from across the table.

The older woman sighed heavily, shaking her head. She reached for one of the teacups and carefully began to pour from the pot. "Well, enough of that. How did you folk happen to find your way here?" She smiled ruefully as she placed the first cup before Milly. "I don't exactly advertise."

Meryl nodded politely as she was given her own cup, wondering how to answer that without being offensive. "We were told that you were a… doctor of sorts."

"So they're still calling me a witch, is that it?"

"Uh, no!" Meryl exclaimed hastily, nearly spilling her tea. "No one said any-!"

She shook her head, cutting Meryl off. "Never you mind; it's just fool's talk. Nice to know people still care." Her voice was even when she said it, but it wasn't hard to sense the underlying hostility. Meryl began to wonder what exactly had happened between the people of the town and this woman. "Anyway, call me Dolores. I used to be a midwife by profession, many years ago. But I've got lots of experience in the area of home remedies, and I know a few things that others take for granted."

Dolores the midwife set the last cup before Vash and moved to take her own seat at the table. "So tell me what happened to bring you to my door. And mind you tell me everything that occurred since you came to this town." She looked over at Vash, who was looking more hangdog than ever. "Any little thing might be important."

Not keen on revealing absolutely _everything_ that had transpired since arriving, Meryl decided to start where it was safest. "We felt fine when we got to town late last night. But after we woke up this morning, we all immediately got sick and started throwing up and –."

"Hold it – back up a bit, Miss. You're skimming details," Dolores cut in, leaning forward to observe the younger woman closely. "You said you were fine _last_ night but sick _this_ morning – that's a few hours. Did you drink anything yesterday before going to bed?"

"A little," Meryl conceded reluctantly. She glanced over at Milly, who was sipping demurely at her tea. "Vash and I had a… few… drinks before we went to be-… b-before we retired." In spite of the topic, Meryl found her tone growing dry. "The 'house special,' I think the bartender called it."

"You mean the liquor from Bowden's Saloon? No worries – that stuff wouldn't have done you two in." She guffawed, waving her hand carelessly while Vash and Meryl cringed. "But tell me, did you have anything to eat while you were there?"

"Different kinds of sandwiches, I think." Meryl couldn't really remember: she had been too exasperated with Vash. "Salmon, for sure. There was a party – the town festivities."

"Hmm… that's right; yesterday was Founder's Day. It's possible that you may have had some food poisoning then. Though Bowden's is known for running a pretty clean kitchen. Still, it sometimes happens, especially when they have to make a lot of food ahead of time…," Dolores rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "Anyway, what happened next?"

"We were all pretty nauseous once we woke up in the morning – well, Milly said she was at first, but then she bought some tea tonic and was fine after that." Noticing the frown on Dolores' face, Meryl paused, but the midwife shook her head slightly and prompted her to continue. "Anyway, Vash and I did think it was a hangover at first but we kept having to run to the bathroom. So after awhile we decided that we really needed to see someone and we went to visit Dr. Wilde –."

The woman snorted. "Go on, honey. Just clearing my throat."

"Er, it took us a while to see him – too many other sick people waiting outside, like us."

"No kidding," Vash muttered, as he began to slide slowly down the chair.

"Is that so?" Dolores' interest was suddenly piqued. She leaned in so close that Meryl had to resist the urge to slide her chair back. "Were these people just from the party? Do you know if they were there for the same reason as you?"

Meryl frowned, struggling to remember the scene in the bar. "No – there were people in line who I don't recall from the party. It was quite a crowd. And yes, a lot of people waiting were complaining about the same thing – headache, stomach upset, all that. But anyway we did eventually get in…." Here Meryl began to blush at the memory, so she stopped.

"So what did Wilde tell you?" urged Dolores.

"When he met with us he told us that the nausea was probably an after affect of the festival – overindulgence, he said." She gave an embarrassed smile. "I can't say he was wrong about that. I guess we're just lucky that you all have a doctor as good as him around nowadays."

"Hmph. What makes you say that?" Dolores asked tersely.

Meryl was confused; hadn't she been repeating common knowledge? "Well, Dr. Wilde mentioned that your town's health care has greatly improved in recent years. He said this kind of thing really doesn't happen anymore since he's –."

She broke off, noticing that Dolores appeared to be on the verge of a violent outburst. "_Feh-!"_ the woman spat out, forcefully slapping her palm against the table and startling her guests. "The fine doctor is _wrong_. This kind of thing isn't so unusual for Bowe's Flats!"

Roughly shoving her chair back, the midwife stood up and walked over to a sideboard, where she began to rifle through the drawers. "This strange sickness – the vomiting, the nausea, the diarrhea and all – has stricken our town before. It happens every so often; six times in my memory, as a matter of fact."

Producing a small cloth pouch, she stalked towards a cabinet filled with small jars. Grabbing several, she began to measure dried substances into the pouch, rather messily in Meryl's opinion. "No one knows what causes it, but the symptoms are always the same. Everyone suffers, but it particularly affects those with weakened or susceptible constitutions: the very young, the very old, pregnant women, the seriously ill. It dehydrates them, depletes their bodies, and in the worst cases causes them to hallucinate or have bad dreams. Some years it's not so strong, but other years it's vicious. The last bad one Bowe's Flats had was about a decade ago. A lot of people died."

Dolores sighed heavily, her shoulders sagging as she leaned her forehead against the cabinet. "My husband, for one. He had a chronic kidney condition. Took my daughter, too – she was expecting, you see. I think she was about you girls' age when she passed away."

Meryl turned to Milly, at a loss for what to say to this revelation. "Oh, Ma'am," began Milly, "We're so sorry…!"

But the midwife appeared not to hear. "Well, go on. Finish your story," she said quietly, slowly recapping the jars. "What did the doctor prescribe?"

"He gave us – that is, he gave _me_ – a bottle of his special tonic to drink, and I must say it worked wonders. I've been feeling better ever since. But there wasn't any for Vash and as you can see…," She turned towards the gunman, who was now sagging low in his chair. "We're desperate."

Finished with her chore, Dolores turned again to face them. Approaching the table, she dropped the now tied pouch onto the table in front of Meryl. "Take this. It's a medicinal tea for you to drink – all three of you. Just ask for some hot water when you get back to the inn and add about a spoonful per cup. Keep drinking it while you're here."

Before Meryl could thank her, a low moan from Vash drew everyone's attention. His chin was now resting on the table, arms wrapped around his midsection. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful, Ma'am, but is there anything you have that might be quicker?"

Dolores gave him a searching look, as if measuring him up for some unknown trial. "Young man, there are other remedies for all types of maladies, old as the hills. They'll work just as well in the hands of an experienced person – if you have a little faith."

"Then call me a righteous man," Vash slurred out the side of his mouth.

_Pathetic_, thought Meryl.

Apparently satisfied, Dolores gave him a curt nod. "Come into my office." She gestured to Vash, who slowly pulled himself up and lumbered after her.

They passed through a door into a hallway, entering a smaller lantern-lit room with a large copper tub and basin – the washroom, Vash supposed. Dolores motioned him to have a seat on a stool, which he took gratefully: he was starting to feel sluggish again. He watched with detached interest as the midwife began to rummage through shelves, pulling out various items and placing them about the room: a privacy screen, an odd-looking rubber tube, a kettle of water, towels and so forth. Finally she placed what looked suspiciously like an oversized chamber pot at Vash's feet.

"What is that for?"

"You'll see." Dolores finished setting up the screen and was again standing in front of Vash, holding up the strange tube. "Now, you ever heard of an enema?"

"N-no," Vash hedged, curiously uncomfortable.

Dolores looked grim. "Good. Pull your pants down and bend over."

----------

As Vash staggered from the house some time later, one arm thrown around Milly for support, Meryl hung back to talk to Dolores, the pouch of medicinal tea carefully grasped between her hands. "Ma'am, I want to thank you again for helping us, and I –," _Don't you dare wimp out now, Stryfe_. "I was wondering about what you said earlier. About being a midwife, that is. I… do you think you could… is there a way to tell if someone is… pregnant?"

The older woman regarded her coolly. Her eyes flickered to the door to see if the others were out of earshot. Satisfied, she fixed Meryl with a knowing look. "You and that gunman – you're not married, are you?"

Meryl was so shocked that she nearly dropped the tea. "Wha- what do y-you mean…?"

"For starters, neither of you are wearing a wedding band. Was this unplanned?"

_That's one way of putting it_. Unable to speak, Meryl dropped her head. She was slowly getting used to the embarrassment engendered by the subject, but in this woman's presence she felt the unexpected sensation of shame. A mental portrait of her family flashed into her mind. Never mind that she was a grown woman, had been on her own for some while now, proven time and again she could handle all that life had dished out to her. No foolish wide-eyed girl was she, "Derringer" Meryl. Yet in the dim room under the gaze of this woman, she only saw her parents standing before her, regarding their wayward daughter with a mix of shock and sadness: _"Oh, Meryl, what have you done?"_

Dolores reached out to grab Meryl's trembling hand. She wasn't smiling, but her eyes had softened. "I'm not trying to upset you. I'm a midwife. I've seen and heard it all." She gave her a gentle squeeze. "And yes, there are ways to tell. How long since…?"

Meryl needed no further prompting. "Just… one day."

Dolores shook her head. "Too soon. You need to wait a few days more yet before I could examine you."

"Oh." She couldn't keep the tremor from her voice.

But Dolores wasn't finished. "Honey, take heart. You may not even be pregnant, you know. You may find that this is all just a case of nerves – happens more often than you'd think. But even so…," The midwife gave Meryl a somber look, "It seems to me that at this point whether you are or aren't is almost incidental."

Witnessing Meryl's confused expression, she continued. "You and your man – have you given any thought as to what you're going to do next? Have you talked about what you want?"

Meryl slowly opened and closed her mouth, realizing just how little she and Vash had really _said_ to each other that day – there had been too many distractions, among other issues. She shook her head.

Dolores nodded, affirming that she'd already guessed as much. "Trust me, you need to answer that one first, honey. Then you'll know what to do when you find out the truth. _Both_ of you."

Nodding stiffly, Meryl thanked the midwife one last time, then walked unsteadily out into the falling dusk, hurrying to catch up with her friends.

"And for Heaven's sakes, you three – don't forget to _drink something!_" hollered Dolores after them.

----------


	7. Chapter 6 Mental Barriers, pt1

**Chapter Six: Mental Barriers, Pt.1**

----------

The scene in Bowden's Saloon was not quite so active that evening, though not for a lack of customers. Its tables and bar stools were lined with patrons quietly nursing their drinks, their wan, haggard faces regarding the entering trio with what to Meryl seemed barely veiled hostility. Then she cautiously peeked up at Vash, who was also wearing a similarly stony expression. She recalled Dolores' revelation as she surveyed the malcontented mass. No, it probably wasn't a surprise that everyone was on edge. She clutched the pouch tighter in her hand, following meekly in Vash's wake as he made his way to the only vacant table.

They had barely seated themselves when the bartender approached, wiping his hands on a red stained towel. "Evening, folks. Tonight's drink special is the Bloody Mary and… oh, it's you three again." He looked at them warily, deep bags under his bloodshot eyes. "What'll it be this time? _Thirty_ tequila shots?"

"_No_," Vash replied shortly, the barest hint of menace in his response. Milly and Meryl exchanged glances. It was always unsettling to see him in distemper, rare though it was.

"May we please just have a pot of boiled water and some cups?" Meryl politely supplied.

"Make that hot milk for me, please!" Milly added.

"But, Milly, what about the tea –?"

"It's okay. I like it that way. It helps me go to sleep."

"Well… whatever. Er, Vash, is there anything…?"

But the gunman said nothing. Shrugging, the bartender turned and left.

Meryl sighed. The walk back into town had not been cheerful. She had spent it thinking about Dolores' advice, about how much she needed to have a heart to heart with Vash. She had been hoping for the chance to hint at him about their need for words. But the taxing day combined with whatever had happened in the midwife's back room had finished off the last vestiges of Vash's normal good humor. He had been uncommunicative ever since, even going so far as to slip on his sunglasses as soon as they had reentered the city limits. _He might as well have put up a sign_, thought Meryl with disgust. Tonight it was The Stampede who sat brooding across from her in the dreary saloon.

At the exact same table they had occupied barely twenty-four hours ago.

She shivered at the unsettling sense of déjà vu washing over her. _How did we end up with __**this**__ table again? _Meryl shrank back in her seat, keenly aware of the awkward situation, and covertly scanned her friend's faces. But it seemed that she was the only one who'd noticed. Milly, eyes closed, was absorbed in humming along to a popular song playing from the nearby jukebox. Vash, meanwhile, was wholly self-preoccupied, staring impassively out at the people in the saloon.

Pushing aside her discomfort, Meryl turned her attention to the gunman. Taking the opportunity to trace the familiar planes of his face unawares, she wondered what troubling thoughts were running through his head. The last time she'd seen him so tense was before his most recent confrontation with his brother. Though disheartened by that memory, Meryl gave a wistful half smile, wishing that she could command so much of Vash's interest.

_Perhaps I could… if only I had the guts to finally tell him._

Falling into a light fantasy, Meryl imagined what it might be like to telepathically communicate with someone. How simple it would be, to allow Vash access to the feelings she could not find the words to express. There had been so many missed opportunities between them in the past few weeks – too many competing distractions, really. She had found herself beginning to despair of ever finding the right moment to approach him. For encouragement from Milly aside, Meryl knew she could not just… go crazy on him. No matter how badly she wished she could.

Of course, unexpectedly waking up next to him in bed had not really helped matters.

Meryl sighed softly to herself, wondering why her relationship with Vash had to be so complicated. But, as she stoically reminded herself, Life With Vash was just that way by nature. She continued inspecting the gunman's face, noting the taut jaw muscles working around thinly pressed lips and the guarded expression. She frowned sadly, recognizing that particular demeanor: she had a fairly good idea of what was bothering Vash. It was the same thing that had been haunting him for the past month.

_Stop it, Vash,_ Meryl silently commanded, eyebrows furrowed with the intensity of her concentration. _Stop doing this to yourself. It's so unfair, Vash. _Never mind that such mental imploring was futile. Meryl knew she would do better to take a cue from Wolfwood and just come right out and yell at him, if nothing more than to shock him out of his solitude. But to publicly say some of the things weighing on her mind….

_Still… no one can shoulder such a heavy burden alone. _

Remembering a time when she had believed she'd lost him forever, Meryl felt a surge of emotion welling up inside her, a feeling so strong it seemed to be literally flowing out of her towards him. She didn't fight it; she couldn't – there was so much she yearned to say. _Please, Vash, listen to me. I just can't bear seeing you like this. I want… I want to help you. Oh, please understand, Vash, I need you to –._

Then suddenly he was staring straight at her.

They locked gazes and Meryl, abashed, completely lost her train of thought. She felt a heated prickling along her neck, wondering if perhaps Vash had finally noticed her watching him as her mind raced to come up with a plausible excuse for her behavior. Something that wouldn't make her look like a complete idiot. But she couldn't think, much less speak: those amber veiled eyes were _staring_ at her….

And then, to Meryl's shock, she realized that his dispassionate orbs seemed to rather be looking _through_ her than _at_ her. Feeling an indistinct pressure building inside her skull, she was overcome by the distressing sensation that something alien was examining her, indifferently cold and detached. Her breath catching in her throat, for a terrible moment Meryl believed her thoughts truly were on the verge of being exposed, that Vash would be able to read all her shamefully transparent desires just by looking in her eyes. And knowing them he _would not care_….

Icy fear gripped her heart; she was drowning in despair. Her sense of self crumbling, she desperately longed to look away when suddenly – mercifully – a familiar awareness flashed out at her from behind the glasses, and their contact was broken as he quickly turned away.

Meryl blinked, the odd feeling of oppression fading and with it her disconcertion. Instead she soon found herself scowling at Vash's blatant evasion. How she hated it when he got like that. _So damn infuriating!_ That he could be unhesitatingly open with his feelings – unashamedly even – and then just as suddenly throw up an impenetrable wall, unyieldingly inscrutable whether to friend or foe or… other. It made her feel helpless. So completely –

"Hopeless," she muttered.

"Did you say something, Meryl?" Milly was accepting her glass of milk from the bartender, who had just returned with their orders.

"No, nothing…," Meryl picked up the pouch of tea and passed it to her friend, then resignedly began to ready a cup for herself. She watched Milly pull open the drawstring and scoop out a heaping spoonful of the mixture, pausing just before dipping it in to take a deep whiff. Her face lit up.

"Mmm! Meryl, I think this is more of that Wilde's tonic!"

"Eh?" Curious, Meryl reached for the pouch and likewise took a sniff. She frowned. "Funny, I don't remember the tonic smelling like anything, Milly. At least certainly nothing as strong as this."

"Really? I noticed the smell right away…." Milly finished stirring her glass and took an appraising sip. "It even tastes the same. I wonder how that lady knew to make it?"

Meryl grimaced slightly, setting down her own prepared cup. It did taste essentially the same, though sometimes she felt that way about all teas. Still, Wilde's tonic was sweeter. This one had a slightly bitter tang.

"That's a good question," she replied, though sounding only half interested. She had noticed that Vash was staying conspicuously silent throughout their exchange.

"Maybe it's the milk," Milly offered.

"Maybe…"

Taking the last cup, Meryl carefully measured out a spoonful and mixed it into the water. Then, ever so gently, she slid it in front of the reticent gunman.

"Thank you," he murmured, refusing to meet her eyes.

Meryl only nodded. Yes, she really needed to talk to Vash. Just not tonight.

----------

Night had fallen on Bowe's Flats, granting its restless populace respite from a very trying day. Yet even as most people began to tuck in for the night, the town's nocturnal inhabitants were beginning to stir on their nightly sojourns.

On the northern outskirts of the town, one such figure crouched in the darkness, listening to an amorous cat singing to the many moons. This person, who had been patiently making his or her way through the back alleyways since sundown, now squatted behind a barrel, furtively scanning the area around for any signs of activity. Upon seeing nothing, the figure quickly scurried across an open expanse towards the hulking outline of Bowe's Flats Water Tower #2.

A large building, square and naked against the starry sky, stood at the foot of the water tower. Although there was a gate and guardhouse at the main entrance, no security patrolled the perimeters, no lights shone from any windows, and no alarm went off when a small window near the back was shattered. But then security had always been pathetically lax at the A&J Bottling Co., manufacturers of specialty medicine vials, cheap soda water, and exclusive bottlers of Wilde Thomas' Olde Tyme Tea Tonic.

----------


	8. Chapter 7 Mental Barriers, pt2

**Chapter Seven: Mental Barriers, Pt.2**

----------

It was close to midnight when Vash, a towel wrapped around his waist, emerged from his washroom and sat unsteadily on the edge of his bed. He took a deep breath, and twisting around, ran a hand over the fresh bedding.

He could almost have cursed the efficiency of the cleaning maids. He'd had it in mind upon returning to discreetly examine the sheets, to uncover what evidence of the previous night if any remained. But the room was in order: everything scrubbed, swept and straightened down to the pile of clothing folded neatly on the dresser. Not all of it his. He would have winced in chagrin at what the maids must have thought on first sight, but found that he was just too drained to care. Instead he flopped backwards, drawing his legs up heavily and stretching himself the length of the bed. He was too tired to even change into his pajamas.

Vash lay there, long minutes passing slowly while he tossed uneasily, watching the neon-tinged moonlight pouring through the open window to spread in a panel across the wooden floor. He felt his stomach churn once and finally fall still; it had only begun to settle within the past hour.

Grimacing, the gunman recalled the wretched visit with the "witch doctor." While it had helped, the experience left him with the vague sensation of having been violated. And this proved to be his final straw. Tired, still nauseous and at last irritated, he found himself barely able to feign the normal social courtesies, brushing off Meryl and Milly's tentative inquiries on the slow trek back. Finally allowed to withdraw into himself, he had begun mulling over the various aggravations of the past day in Bowe's Flats, frowning at the irony – here at last was a town that Vash the Stampede would flee in fear of. Bernardelli never had it so good.

And worse, he'd begun to think about Knives.

----------

It was an issue he'd been putting off, Vash knew, as he recalled events that had occurred barely a month ago, starting with that last gunfight against Knives. It had been very close. He was still amazed that it was him and not his brother who had walked away from it.

_Walked away._ It was another grim irony: Vash had won by paralyzing Knives, shooting him through the upper arms, torso and sciatic nerves in his legs. That action, though counter to Rem's pacifistic ideal, had kept him true to his pledge not to kill and also to his new resolve not to let Knives run unchecked.

That – and he had _survived_.

He had been resolved during the fight. Even if it meant his own death, Vash had been determined to see it through: Wolfwood would have been pleased. Nevertheless, his victory had left him equally dazed with thankfulness and disbelief. But even so it was not until returning to Meryl and Milly with his unconscious brother that the enormity of it all had finally sunk in. Upon catching sight of them, he'd felt a rush of elation, a lightness filling his heart as if a great burden was finally lifting from his shoulders, and Vash couldn't remember ever feeling so… relieved. Then he felt it – a hesitant, gentle tugging at the corner of his mouth. Helplessly, the contracting muscles rippled across his face and up to his eyes until Vash was grinning so broadly he knew he must look like a fool. He didn't care.

They in turn had been just as overjoyed to see him. Meryl was almost in tears, he remembered, though he could have been mistaken about that: he'd found the two women soaked to the skin, giddy beneath the newly opened geyser raining miraculously down on them. But their euphoria at his return had turned quickly to silence as both were stunned by what Vash told them he intended to do about Knives. And amazingly – beyond reason even, in Vash's opinion – they had agreed to help him anyway.

They placed Knives in the sickbed that had so recently been occupied by his twin and tended to his injuries as best they could. All had seemed fine at first, but then some of the wounds became infected and he'd quickly developed a fever. Realizing that Knives needed better treatment if he were to survive at all, they'd quietly left the town, still reveling in its reopened well, and traveled to the fallen SEEDS ship outside New Oregon.

There they had been met with a somewhat mixed and chilly reception: though several had welcomed Vash, many others still held lingering resentment towards him that had been exacerbated by the hardscrabble existence encountered as they began rebuilding their lives. And Vash, alarmed by the underlying current of hostility, refused to give many details about the injured stranger, which had further incited them. Indeed, it was only with the Doctor's timely intervention that they'd managed to convince the survivors to allow them access to the ship's facilities at all. But even the Doctor had been somewhat skeptical, as he later let them know in private. He, after all, already knew about Knives.

Young Jessica, however, did not. It was her who, suspicious and frightened, had confronted Vash on the matter, finally forcing him to admit the mysterious patient's true relationship to himself:

_Mr. Vash, why didn't you ever tell me – tell us – that you had a brother?_

_I… he's… H-how did you know?_

_What __**else**__ could he be? He looks just like you!_

Like so many things recently, it had been a painful encounter. Upon learning the whole truth of the matter, Jessica had been deeply conflicted, and for the first time that anyone could recall seriously angry with Vash. But she had eventually calmed down and even unexpectedly volunteered to help the Doctor treat Knives. That was a both a surprise and a comfort to Vash, who had suspected Meryl's hand in the affair. He'd meant to ask her about it, but by then had other matters again weighing on his mind. What of his brother? Would he become a paraplegic? They didn't know: Knives had fallen into a shock-induced coma, laying inert in a regenerative tube, unresponsive to all stimuli. After a few weeks with little prognosis, Vash had finally been persuaded, through reluctantly, to leave him under the careful watch of the Doctor and Jessica, with strict orders to contact Vash the moment Knives showed signs of stirring. It would simply be a matter of time.

But, as Vash reasoned silently one week later while reentering Bowden's Saloon, his body would probably mend eventually. Of that he was sure: his brother had survived far worse, after all. Knives had always regenerated well, a byproduct of having mastered his body and his abilities to a degree Vash felt he would never match. But for all of that Vash could continue shooting him in vital places. No, it wasn't his body's inevitable recuperation that preyed on the gunman. It was something far more dangerous: his mind.

How the heck was Vash going to manage _that_?

To merely say that they didn't see eye to eye was an understatement. Vash wondered for the umpteenth time if they never had and he'd simply failed to notice – on the SEEDS ship, it had never seemed to matter. They were twins. Together from the start, Vash's earliest memories were of Knives' clear blue eyes staring back into his. They had always shared in everything: lessons in the lab, work with the Plants, meals with the crew, playtime with Rem. Virtually identical, even down to their clothes and hair. In the end it was Knives who had asserted his difference from Vash… and everyone else.

Knives, the quiet one, the more intelligent of the pair according to Joey. Polite, studious, even-tempered and possessed of the same charisma as his twin, though more sedate. By turns annoyed or amused by Vash's goofy antics, though like him just as innately curious about their human companions and willing to join in any adventures about the ship. Intuitive and reflective, yet more canny, more rationally assured in his arguments as compared with Vash's volubly emphatic ones – though often just as adamantly stubborn.

They were twins in body yet polar opposites in spirit – so it appeared to Vash. And now it mattered. He wondered after all that had happened, all the destruction, death and betrayal, if there was still a way to bridge the vast gulf between them. Yet he had never felt more distant from Knives as during their last battle. The words and the weapons exchanged between them had served to clarify that beyond all doubt.

But someone – _something_ – had to change. Running away was no longer a choice.

How was it that they both had grown up together in the relative security of the ship and the nurturing love of Rem yet Knives could sustain such a fundamental hatred of humans? Yes, Vash knew that as Plants they had not been completely accepted by all of their human companions – but Rem surely had. Why hadn't that been enough? He knew that mankind's existence came at the expense of Plant welfare, but humans had little choice in the matter if they were to survive at all. Why did Knives insist that it had to be one or the other? If he could only understand his brother, then maybe….

Strange how after all this time it was still Knives who acted as if _he_ were the one who needed to change his brother's mind.

Vash pondered as he sat in the bar what it must really be like to _think_ like Knives. What would it be to feel the way he did, _believe_ the things he did, so as to have every fiber of his being directed into accomplishing that one end of virtually every waking moment for the past one hundred years? What was it like to see the world – to witness humanity – through his eyes, to judge with his heart, to reason with his _mind_…

Unfortunately, there was really only one way he could think of to find out.

Vash considered the idea: telepathy. The unique Plant ability that he'd been born with yet in all this time had never fully explored. In truth, he was not entirely comfortable with it, on the grounds that it was highly invasive. Mindspeaking with Knives and other Plants was one thing – that was natural, it was permissible – but pushing into the thoughts of a human being was another. Mind control à la Legato was beyond him. But now… things were different.

In an instant Vash became fully aware of his surroundings. There he was, just another anonymous face sitting in the midst of a bar, a sea of humanity set readily before him….

His conscience pricked him sharply. It did not seem like something Rem would do.

_You've already crossed that bridge, remember?_

Almost defiantly, Vash gritted his teeth. For the sake of Knives, he must – _would_ – do this. And steeling his resolve, he cautiously let his mental barriers lower.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then ever so softly, Vash felt an odd tingling sensation flickering from somewhere deep within his brain: the telltale signature of alien psyches dancing on the fringes of his conscience. Before long he could feel them sweeping around him like fine dust, pressing against the boundary of his mind as gradually the tingling grew into a mild harmonic buzz that filled his head, briefly inducing a sense of disembodiment.

It was somewhat unnerving at first, but Vash was prepared. He had learned long ago that, unlike individual telepathy, the trick to mass telepathy was not to lose one's sense of self in the process, and having Knives with him had undoubtedly aided their novice attempts. But that was all years ago, with Plants. He couldn't help feeling slightly on edge this time.

Reminding himself that his plans for this experiment were more of a passive than active nature, Vash forced himself to calm down. Knives had done this. He too could do this. Everything would be fine. Observing the crowd warily, he opened his mind further. Then –

They came at him from all directions, washing unhindered over him. Anger, sorrow, joy, greed, lust: the sheer strength of the emotions caught Vash by surprise as they rushed in to fill every corner of his mind. It was an overwhelming sensation, like falling into quicksand. He was cornered on every side by a multitude of jabbering voices, each screaming to be heard above the rest… so unlike the complaisant discourse of Plants. A feeling of self-preservation swept over him, causing him to clench his jaw as he fought the urges unexpectedly welling up from within: to reach out, to grab them, to make them _stop shoving_ –

Almost without realizing it, Vash switched over from passive to active, forcing the relentless tide of emotions aside as he focused his mind into a trowel like barrier. He began to push back against the assault and the alien psyches quickly washed away from him, much like dunes being cut by a Sandsteamer.

Numb surprise flickered through him. It was surprisingly easy.

A strange sense of detachment settled over Vash. It was like being in a dream, where the surreal seemed unremarkable. He felt as if he had unwittingly slipped free of the corporeal world, and yet by doing so could finally observe everything with impartiality.

This was to him a feeling entirely, wholly _foreign_, yet inexplicably… not the least disturbing.

Aware of this newfound separateness, his eyes again roamed over the crowd, though no longer registering the individual faces. Instead they had become indistinct forms pulsating in the background, while their thoughts – no longer filtered by personal inhibitions or agendas – emerged with stark clarity to his mind. It was revealing, Vash noted without irony, that _they_ now somehow seemed more real and true than the persons themselves.

So was this what Knives felt like?

Relaxing into a meditative state, Vash watched, curiously entranced, as the mental threads streamed past him like a psychic wind. He soon discovered that he could discern individual words merely by letting them brush against his mind:

… _more …_

… _not … day…_

… _stupid …_

… _pair … tens…_

But this quickly grew unsatisfying. A familiar curiosity was gnawing at him, the same one that had first compelled him and Knives in their childhood to seek out their human cargo and, perhaps invariably, kept drawing them back all the years since.

_I wonder what they're dreaming._

_I wonder if they'll accept us._

_I wonder…_

Vash began to probe in earnest among them, tracing and pulling out the individual threads. It was like grabbing sand – snippets of conversation formed, clarified briefly and quickly slipped away from him again:

… _cheating on me again. I just know it…_

… _rip his throat out. Damn, lying, son of a –_

… _believe it? Like taking candy from…_

First one, then another, he sorted through them compulsively, though what he was looking for he wasn't exactly sure:

… _just a few drinks; don't know why she has…_

…_blah blah talk about something interesting you dumb –_

… _c'mon, baby, just turn this way…_

… _doing this to yourself. It's so…_

A feeling of revulsion was creeping over him. Were these banal thoughts what predominated people's consciences? Was this the only thing that the human mind had to offer? Is _this_ what Knives had been trying to show him for so long?

And yet he kept searching, more doggedly than before:

… _hate this hate this hatehatehate …_

… _special about this crap? Tastes more like wa-_

… _not my problem, ya got that?! Go find someone who gives a –_

… _listen to me. I just can't bear seeing you like this –_

And then he felt it. Hidden among the more pronounced thoughts emerged one that almost seemed to be flowing directly at him. Seizing on it, Vash felt a momentary pang of disorientation: here was something inexplicably familiar. Intrigued, he swiftly sent his mind to follow it back to the source:

… _I want… I want to help you. Oh, please understand… I need you to –_

Vash felt his mind stumble – had he just heard his name? – and then he realized he'd hit some kind of barrier. Instinctively probing it, he soon recognized what it was: a human's psychic shield. Though weak in comparison to his own, the protective ward guarding the fragile inner psyche was nevertheless solid: its owner most likely possessed a strong mind. Even touched this way, it hid its secrets well.

And then, without a moment's hesitation, he quickly enveloped the mind within his own.

Vash traced the nebulous wall of resistance, finding it resilient yet fragile like the shell of an egg. He could feel it throbbing underneath his touch, its hum resonating in his head while he casually regarded his options. There was something lurking here, just below the surface, drawing him in. An old memory surfaced, of him staring longingly at a nameless face locked in the grasp of hypersleep, forever inaccessible to his questioning mind. Except Vash knew that _this_ time if he tried, he could break through. He could uncover the source of that mysteriously intimate call… perhaps even find the solution to a long unanswered question….

He began to push.

Immediately the hum rose to a crescendo, vibrating throughout his being and unexpectedly setting his senses on edge. Vash felt bizarrely alive with a feeling of anticipation, as one on the tip of mastering a particularly vexing puzzle. At long last, he could attain a complete understanding surpassing mere physical boundaries; he would finally discern the _essence_ of a human being. The sensation was beyond what he expected: intense and heady, it was making his mind reel. Losing himself entirely, Vash pressed down insistently, unmindful as the barrier gave a violent shudder, on the verge of collapse –

A stream of emotions burst forth, engulfing him: A lonely, quiet sadness. Confusion tinged with hope and worry. A desperate longing for something. And overlying it all a steadily growing… sense of… _fear_…?

Then he realized he was staring at Meryl.

_Damn you, Knives._

… _damn me, too._

----------

Returning his thoughts to the present, Vash sighed deeply as he rolled over onto his side. That haunted look in her violet eyes had brought him to his senses like a hard slap to the face. He had shut down immediately, deeply disturbed with himself and unable to meet Meryl's gaze for the rest of the evening. No matter what, he could not vent his frustrations on the innocent by using them as guinea pigs. He would not. _I'm __**not**__ like you, Knives. I'll never be like you._

Banishing all worries of his brother, Vash forced his mind elsewhere. Not surprisingly, it readily obliged by zeroing in on the one thing that had been troubling him all day: Meryl. On the events of the night before, at the scene from that morning, the various incidents of the day – not the least of which being the outside chance that she could be… pregnant.

Was it even possible?

He honestly had no idea. As far as he knew Plants reproduced asexually, although he'd personally always felt that the androgynous inner forms of most Plants looked female. But from the start Vash and his twin had been abnormal for Plants – for one, they were humanoid, and moreover both Knives and he had male organs; they themselves would never be able to reproduce asexually. Even the SEEDS crew had been unable to offer little more than speculation about how or why the Plant produced offspring with a human form. It was something that had often caused him to wonder what significance, if any, there was to being born this way, but as he grew older, he did not really mind the urges that came with his form.

_Until now, that is_, a little voice in his mind whispered.

Meryl. It was hard enough just coming to terms with having _sex_ with her, as it seemed inescapable now that this had, in fact, happened.

_And how do you feel about that?_

Vash sighed. It was the question he had been asking himself over and over since waking up that morning. And invariably, the answer was always the same:

_I just… don't know._

Now what?

Did they rush out and get married? He'd always told himself he would marry someday… he'd meant it, too. Even if it had already been one hundred years, even if it was more of an idle dream than possibility…

_All this time, and you still haven't even told her how you –._

For that matter, did Meryl even feel the same way?

Vash blanched. This wasn't happening at all the way he'd always imagined it would. It was too fast, it was so uncertain… so… _so_….

What about Knives?

What if Meryl really _was_…?

Vash fell still, staring out the open window, the pale moonlight falling across the wooden floor.

"I'm not ready to be a father," he suddenly cried out towards the starry expanse. "I don't know what the hell I'm doing!"

The fifth moon, gaping crater marring the sanguine lunar surface, shone steadily back at him.

----------


	9. Chapter 8 Night Follies, pt1

**Chapter Eight: Night Follies, Pt.1**

----------

Vash stared blankly out the open window, watching particles of dust floating in on the morning sunbeams. Suddenly a mayfly darted in, buzzing a dizzying loop around his head before landing on his bionic arm. Startled, he barely examined it for a moment when just as quickly it zipped back out the window into the vast desert, leaving him to smile wryly after it. Vash closed his eyes and took a deep breath, taking in all the sounds and scents of carefree activity from the world outside before letting it out slowly. It was finally the day. After nine long months, today would be the day their new baby would arrive…

So why was _he_ strapped to a gurney?

"Oh, honey…!"

Vash turned to see Meryl's tear-streaked face shining down at him. He was unnerved to notice that the petite agent looked fit and trim – remarkably so for an imminently expectant mother. He stared uncertainly at her for a moment when a surge of fear rushed through him.

"Meryl, wha… what happened?! Why are you – " he gasped out as he struggled to rise.

Meryl shook her head at him sympathetically as she squeezed his hand, gently pushing him back down.

"Silly man, _I'm_ fine. Perfectly fine." She wiped her eyes and to Vash's surprise smiled cheerfully at him. "In fact, I've never felt better. I'm just so glad that this happened! How about _you_?"

He was stunned. Why was she so… so… _happy_? His heart gave a dull thud. Was it possible? Had she really not wanted the baby after all? _Their_ baby?

Vash felt a hollow coldness settling in his chest. Her hand felt oddly dead within his and he numbly let it go. Shock gave way to incredulity, and unable to bear looking at her another moment he quietly turned his face away. But Meryl did not seem to notice as she continued to prattle on.

"You remember how I was so worried at the start, Vash, when we first found out all those months ago. And after all the visits with Doctor and learning more about your Plant physiology – I admit I was really scared. I didn't know if I could go through with it. I kept wondering to myself would this even be _natural?_"

"I see," he interjected woodenly.

"But then this incredible _miracle_ happened and it was like a giant _weight_ fell off my shoulders –"

"Oh."

" – since _you're_ an alien, _I_ don't have to be the one who gives birth!"

Vash whipped his head back around. "… Come again?"

"Isn't it wonderful, Mr. Vash?" Milly added as she suddenly appeared over Meryl's shoulder, clasping her hands excitedly. "You're going to be the mommy!"

He nearly broke free of the restraints. "EXCUSE ME??? I _don't_ think that's the way it works –!"

"Ah, quit your bellyaching, Needle Noggin." Vash twisted around to see Wolfwood standing nearby, smirking infuriatingly as he lit up a cigarette. "You finally get the guts to do the decent thing and _now_ you want to chicken out?"

"Wolfwood!" Vash sputtered. "Wolfwood, why are you –?"

"Smoking's bad for the baby, Nick," Milly admonished as she leaned over to pull out the cigarette.

"Oh, right, honey," he grinned apologetically. "Guess old habits are hard to break. Sorry!"

They all began laughing. The room took on a surreal hue as Vash cast furtively about, wondering if he could somehow make a break for it. He was starting to feel queasy again – a bathroom run sounded very good just then. Better yet, a one-way ticket to New Oregon. Hell, December even.

Suddenly the door opened and a doctor in a long white coat entered the room, followed by a male nurse carrying an oddly shaped case. The room fell silent as everyone turned expectantly towards the doctor who, completely disregarding the others, walked towards Vash and stopped by his side.

Vash felt a chill race along his spine.

Legato Bluesummers loomed over him, smiling mirthlessly as he addressed his companion. "Nurse Midvalley, I believe the patient is ready."

"Duh – duh – _d-doctor_?!?" sputtered Vash, looking beseechingly around the room.

"Well, he _is_ certifiable," Milly explained.

"Certified, sweetheart," murmured Wolfwood.

"Your brother recommended him," added Meryl helpfully.

"AND YOU LISTENED TO HIM???"

Vash turned back and yelped; Legato was now leaning in closer and staring him dead in the eyes. Suddenly he began to croon in strangely tuneless voice:

"I smell something cooking in the… _oven_."

A horrible sound like an animal in torment escaped Vash and several arms reached out to grab him. He struggled helplessly as Legato calmly moved to the foot of the bed and lifted the sheet covering his waist. Dropping it, he emerged with a brown paper sack. Mesmerized, Vash fell still as he watched Legato opening the bag.

Reaching in, the morose doctor pulled out a doughnut. Briefly examining it, he took a bite, chewing quietly as he stared back at Vash with impassive eyes.

"Jelly filled. Not bad." He held the bag out to the petrified gunman. "Want one?"

----------

"What do you think that was?" Meryl whispered, peering into the blackness as she stuck her head out the window, noting the lights going on in several rooms along their floor.

"Hnn…?" Milly yawned sleepily from her bed. "What was wha…?"

"You didn't _hear_ that? It sounded like someone was having a heart attack!" Meryl shifted her position at the window, straining to detect anything. "You know, I think we should probably go investigate."

To this Milly raised herself blearily off the pillow, momentarily blinking at Meryl's silhouette before gravity reclaimed her. "Go back to sleep, Meryl. It's only a few hours until dawn." She rolled over, turning her back to the shorter woman. "You need your beauty sleep, you know," she mumbled softly.

"It's only one in the morning, Milly." Meryl swiveled back around to face her fellow agent. "And what has _that_ got to do with –"

She sighed: Milly had already drifted off. Meryl leaned back outside once more, but hearing no further disturbance and seeing that lights were already going out again, she shrugged. Reluctantly she turned away and crawled back into her bed.

----------

It had been a long, hard night full of trials, and she had readily fallen into a blissful slumber when it was finally over. She awoke a scant few hours later to a refreshing breeze playing across her cheeks as the first rays of dawn stole into her room. Feeling a wet rag removed from her forehead, Meryl opened her eyes to find Milly standing over her, smiling gently.

"Ah, you're finally awake! How do you feel? Up to any visitors?"

"V-visitors?" Meryl gazed blankly back, absently running a hand along her side. And then she remembered.

"Milly, my _baby_! How is my baby?" Her voice cracked with worry.

Milly grinned widely. "Just perfect! She's a healthy little one, Ma'am."

_A little girl._ Meryl smiled as her anxiety melted away in the wake of the warm feeling spreading throughout her. _That's perfect._ She glanced towards the closed door.

"And what about Vash, Milly? Where is he?"

"He's been waiting just outside." Milly began to giggle. "And you should have seen him last night. I never saw anyone as excited! Wait, I'll go get him."

Milly disappeared through the door, and a scant few moments later Vash came bounding in cradling a basket with a large pink bow tied around it. He split into an ear-to-ear grin when he saw Meryl.

"HONEY!!!"

Meryl blushed, but with pleasure: it seemed she could never quite get over Vash calling her that. She watched him gently set the basket down on the foot of the bed and then quickly grasped her hands. She could tell he was straining not to pick her up and crush her to himself. Instead he began to anxiously pepper her with questions:

"How are you feeling? Are you all right? Does it hurt anywhere? Are you hungry? Thirsty? Tired? Do you need anything? Should I – "

She laughed. "Fine, fine, I'm _fine_ Vash! _Really_," Meryl added, noticing the earnest look he was probing her with, as if he would go shooting out the door to get the doctor at the slightest provocation. She looked away from him to the basket.

"Oh, how is she? Let me see her please."

Meryl reached out for the basket, but was stopped by Vash gently pushing her back onto the pillows. She looked at him askance.

"What is it? Can't I see her?" Her anxiety level quickly shot up. "Vash, is something _wrong_ with the baby?!"

"WHAT?" Vash looked momentarily unsettled. "Oh, no, no, _no_ – it's not that! She's perfect! Beautiful! Cute as a button! Exactly everything a parent could want in a baby!"

Meryl let out a sigh of relief. She attributed her excitability to new parent nerves, and moved forward again.

"Well, then – let me see her."

She was stopped again by Vash grabbing her shoulders, turning her to face him.

"Listen, before that… I've been thinking. I know we've talked about this, but what about a name?"

"A name? But we already agreed months ago that we would name the baby after someone we loved regardless of its sex." She gave him a puzzled look. "Why? Have you changed your mind?"

"Well, no, not exactly… It's just that I was thinking maybe we should try something a little more… _individualistic_. After all, a name is very important. It could mark her for life!"

"When you put it _that_ way…" She regarded him with a mixture of exasperation and curiosity, and finally acquiesced. "All right, go ahead."

Vash appeared gratified. "Okay, now – and don't be afraid to be honest – tell me what you think about… Princess?"

"_Princess_?" Meryl giggled at Vash's sincere expression. "Er, that's a little too… _precious_, don't you think?"

"No good?" Vash seemed momentarily perturbed. But only just. "Then how about Goldie?"

Meryl looked at him oddly. "Um, I guess that's not too bad, but I don't really…"

"Velvet?"

"Er…"

"Moon Beam?"

"…"

"Puddin?"

"You can't be – "

"Blackie?"

"No!"

"Then how about – "

"ENOUGH!" Honestly, did the man have no taste whatsoever? "Vash, let's not worry about her name just yet. We can figure that out _later_. Please just let me _look_ at her now."

"All right, honey." Vash leaned over the basket and to Meryl's horror reached in with one hand, holding up their baby by the scruff of its neck. He held the dangling infant out to her.

"Look, Meryl! She has your hair – and my eyes!"

Meryl stared deeply into large, unblinking, lamp-like orbs.

"Meow."

----------

Vash sat bolt upright in bed, listening intently to the darkness. Something about that high-pitched screech sounded very familiar; his entire body had unconsciously tensed the moment he'd heard it. He waited expectantly, ready to spring at a moment's notice. But nothing seemed to be moving…

Sighing, Vash collapsed backwards. Maybe he had just imagined it. He'd already woken himself up once screaming, and though he had been immeasurably relieved to discover that he'd been dreaming, now he couldn't get back to sleep. The reflected light filtering in from the inn's neon sign was bothering him. He needed to cover his eyes. If he could just find some small piece of cloth, like a rag or a scarf or even that silk gag tie he kept for special occasions…

Groggily hauling himself up, Vash fumbled his way through the dark, hoping to find his duffel bag without having to turn on the lights. Instead he succeeded in smashing into a chair and falling onto the dresser, knocking everything over. Wincing as he thrashed about the floor, he felt blindly through the various articles of clothing that had spilled free of the bag. After a few fruitless minutes, his hand finally landed on the satiny piece of fabric. _Feels strange_, Vash thought, running his callused fingers along the soft spongy material. _No, wait, this is it…_ Grateful, he wrapped it around his eyes like a blindfold and dragged himself back into bed, where he promptly fell asleep.

----------

Meryl couldn't get back to sleep. She lay on the hard mattress listening to Milly gently sawing logs as she pressed a hand to her stomach. It was churning again, though whether due to nerves or lingering illness she couldn't tell. A memory flitted across her mind of the sensation of gentle stroking and once again she found herself wrestling with a growing sense of frustration.

_And the real kicker_, Meryl scowled in righteous indignation, _is that none of what happened is even __**my**__ fault!__If only that idiot Vash hadn't completely lost his mind just because he wanted to see the doctor so badly…._

She frowned, rethinking a few points.

_Okay, so he went a little mad because he was sicker than a dog – which he __**wouldn't**__ have been if he hadn't gotten so blasted the night before! And all just because of that stupid bet… that I made… to save my…. Anyway, the __**point**__ is that none of this is directly my fault, damn it!_

… _Oh, crap._

Meryl realized that she was caressing her stomach idly and froze at the activity. Forcing her hand to lie flat against the bed, she pursued other thoughts, wondering again if she had let Milly down. It wasn't her fear of Milly's censure – did Milly ever really find fault with her? – but how the whole situation had been handled between them. After sharing all her worries about Vash and the unwavering encouragement Milly had given her, even the arguably minor deception she'd unwillingly committed seemed so disloyal … so terribly _unkind_….

Turning her head to look at her sleeping partner, Meryl sighed. Milly had said nothing, yet Meryl was sure she had injured her friend deeply. And although Milly wasn't the type to hide her feelings, Meryl knew that she was capable of restraint when she thought it prudent. After all, Meryl had experienced first hand that tough inner core that held Milly together through heartbreak.

_Nicholas D. Wolfwood._ Meryl realized early on that he seemed to enjoy teasing her partner a little more than in just a purely friendly manner. Yet that whole day had come as a complete shock. She had thought, in her own naïve way, that Milly hadn't really seemed the type. In retrospect, she realized that Milly was so much more worldly and mature than her in certain respects. She wondered what might have happened next had Fate not chosen that moment to step in.

Somberly, Meryl recalled the visage of the shady priest: the unkempt hair, those insouciant eyes, that cocksure grin – strange how she never found it as infuriating as Vash's – and wondered how long it would be until even these bits passed out of her memory. She felt a sharp pang in her heart: undoubtedly it would be sooner than in either Vash's or Milly's. He was still too freshly gone out of their lives to be recalled often or with comfort, but she knew that each one in their own private way honored him. She herself would always remember his death not for her own sorrow at the loss of a friend but more for the great hole it had left in the lives of her friends.

_No fair to hit and run, Wolfwood._

_I wonder if Vash…?_

_NO. Don't even think about that._

Feeling heartsick, Meryl averted her eyes. She wanted to make amends, to set the record straight – she knew she owed it to Milly. She'd have to find a way to delicately explain the circumstances leading up to Vash's declaration that morning; that things between Vash and her _really_ weren't quite what they seemed, appearances to the contrary. One thing working in her favor was that Milly hadn't seen anything _too_ outrageously suspicious so far –

In an instant she was wide awake.

Her room keys. And… her clothes.

----------


	10. Chapter 9 Night Follies, pt2

**Chapter Nine - Night Follies, Pt.2**

----------

Vash had fallen into a fitful sleep, oblivious as the door inched open allowing Meryl to quietly slip inside. She cautiously pushed it shut behind her and stood still, willing her heart to calm down. She felt somewhat irritated by her nervousness – it was hardly the first time she'd had to do something covertly. Still, she was grateful for the moonlight illuminating the room, revealing Vash's inert form.

Glancing around she sighed in relief, then exasperation. Trust him to leave everything on the floor. Then again, it saved her the trouble of rifling through his things.

Or so she thought. The darkness prevented her from easily discerning her clothing from Vash's; twice she grabbed at his pants mistaking them for her own. After several minutes of blind fumbling, she paused to inventory her collection.

_Skirt, check; tights, check; blouse… never mind; belt, fine; cape, thank heavens; underwear… er…_

She felt her face begin to heat up. _Speaking of which_, Meryl thought as she again pawed through the clothing, _I seem to still be missing…_

After several fruitless minutes she gave up in frustration, and peered uneasily about the room. Where else was there to search? Vash owned very little as it was, and as far as she knew wasn't overly secretive about what he did with his belongings. She looked to the bed where he lay, dead to the world.

_Face it, Stryfe_, she told herself, _there just__** isn't**__ anywhere else_ –

She realized that he had something covering his eyes.

Meryl got unsteadily to her feet, frowning as she inspected him.

_Funny, I never imagined Vash to be the type who needed his "beauty" rest._

Then she smiled. She would risk a light.

Creeping back to the door, she reached out and flipped the switch. A harsh glow flooded the room, causing Meryl to clap her hands over her eyes in momentary blindness. Allowing her vision to adjust, she squinted about the room, wondering what she could have missed. Hearing Vash grunt, she quickly turned to check on him. It was then, in the light, that she suddenly recognized that particular piece of cloth.

----------

Milly snorted, opening one eye halfway as her ears twitched. "Go back to sleep, Meryl…"

----------

Vash was startled to awaken to a very live, livid Meryl straddling him about the waist. He wondered if this was another dream. But then Meryl was usually stark naked in those. _This_ Meryl was both clothed – mostly – and furious. And she was holding something up his face.

Blearily he cocked a lone eyebrow at her, struggling to comprehend the scene. He failed.

"Er, Meryl… why are you showing me your bra?"

Snarling, Meryl slammed his head back into the pillow.

"You _IDIOT_! The question is why do _you_ have it wrapped around YOUR HEAD?!?"

Blinking, Vash raised his head again to examine the item. Putting two and two together, he chuckled sheepishly.

"Um – would you believe it makes a good sleeping mask?"

"Don't you even know a _bra_ when you see one?!"

"B-but it was so small! And… and… _padded_! And the cups fit over my eyes per –!"

Vash threw up his hands in time to keep Meryl from encircling hers around his throat.

"Wait! WAIT! But _Meryl_ – !"

"WHAT?" Meryl growled, straining to break his grasp.

"Why are _you_ in my bed?"

----------

"Mmm… there it is again," Milly mumbled before turning over into a more comfortable position.

----------

Vash stared at Meryl uneasily. Never mind that she had for some reason broken into his room in the middle of the night and seemed hell-bent on hurting him. His male mind was wholly preoccupied with matters other than self-defense right now. Her current position astride him, with head thrown back, hands clutching each temple, mouth clenched tightly to cut off a primal scream, was giving him an unprecedented view of her torso. He eyed her night shirt straining across her chest, the triangle of exposed flesh around her navel, taut thighs converging to her white –

_Hold. That. Thought. _

"_M-meEryl_..." Vash's voice squeaked in a way it hadn't done in over a century. "Meryl, wha –?"

Looking down, Meryl dropped her hands, letting them rest on Vash's stomach. Eyes narrowing, she leaned forward to fix the lean man with a piercing stare, in the process unknowingly giving him an unhindered view down the opening of her blouse. She smiled as she felt him start squirming beneath her, beads of sweat breaking out along his brow. _Good_, she thought. _He'd __**better**__ be afraid of me…_

"For your information, _Vash_," – she said his name with a slight hiss – "I _only_ came in here to collect a few… misplaced items. I didn't _plan_ on disturbing you –,"

Vash swallowed hard, only half listening to her words as he focused in on her fingernails tapping rhythmically along the top edge of his towel. He could swear she was purring.

"But then again _I_ forgot to take into account how _disturbed_ YOUR mind already is!!!"

With a disgusted huff and final shove, Meryl slid back off Vash and stood up, to frown down at him with arms crossed. Then she paused, as if seeing him for the first time. Coloring up, she glanced away.

"And WHY are you only wearing a bath towel?!"

Vash let out a deep sigh, unsure of whether to be more relieved than not, as he dragged himself upright and threw his legs over the edge. He sleepily rubbed his face.

"Didn't mean to. Fell asleep before I could change."

Meryl looked back at him, feeling genuine pangs of guilt as she examined his tired face. He still looked unwell. And, she noted, slightly on edge around her given the circumstances. She suddenly felt rather foolish.

"Look, Vash, I'm really very sorry. I honestly didn't mean to bother you or sneak into your room like this. I just came in to… to… you know."

She gestured helplessly at the pile of clothing on the floor.

"Oh," said Vash, somewhat uncomfortably as he followed her motions. "Er… yeah."

There was a tense pause as both contemplated the floor. Meryl bit her lip, thinking carefully. Mostly she wanted to grab her things and make a break for it. On the other hand, she knew that rather than repeating the scene from the previous morning she should just stay and talk to him.

_Still_, Meryl reconsidered, _this doesn't really seem like a good time._

But then when was it _ever_ a "good" time?

"Vash," she began, pausing as he looked up at her. Meryl felt her heart flip within as she gazed into his uncertain eyes. _Focus, focus!_ she mentally commanded herself as she turned slightly away from him.

"I think we need to talk."

Distracted, Vash could only nod dumbly; he was struggling not to stare at her legs. Realizing that he'd never succeed if Meryl stayed in his direct line of sight, he gestured for her to sit down next to him on the bed. Relieved, she sank down quietly. And so they sat motionlessly side by side for the next few minutes staring at their toes: Vash thinking about Knives; Meryl fretting about Milly; and each acutely aware of exactly what it was that they were sitting on. Neither had any idea how to start.

"About last night –," they both began.

"Oh… sorry."

"No, it's all right – go ahead."

"No – you first, I mean…"

They fell quiet once more. After another lengthy pause Meryl drew a breath, willing herself to try again.

"Vash, do you… ever think about the future?"

Silence followed. Meryl thought that perhaps Vash hadn't heard her when there came a sigh.

"All the time," he finally admitted.

She perked up, her heart giving a hopeful leap.

"Then… do you know what you… want? Out of life, I mean?" she quickly added.

"What _I_ want?" Vash repeated doubtfully, as if it was a wholly new idea to him. What was it that he wanted out of life? To stay alive? To stop Knives? To never again have to watch people being murdered or his loved ones die? They were all a part of the reason for his continued existence, had motivated him for almost as long as he'd been alive – even with Knives in a coma, nothing had really changed, had it? He even had a mantra that summed it all up, didn't he? What was it…?

"I want…," His brows furrowed with the effort of recollection, unsure of the reasons for his sudden memory lapse. "I want… peace. And love," he added, almost as an afterthought.

Meryl smiled ruefully. "I meant something more… specific than that. Tangible," she prompted. "Immediate."

Peace… and love. Love and peace. What more was there beyond that?

"I… no," he said quietly.

_Eh?_ thought Meryl. "But…" she stopped herself, stifling the urge to argue with him. She couldn't lose focus now. She decided to try rephrasing the question.

"Where do you see yourself in a year? Is there –," She paused over the words. " – Anyone with you?"

"Knives." No hesitation in his response.

_Yes_, Meryl acknowledged silently. "And… that's it?

The air seemed to press in heavily on her lungs as she waited for him to speak.

"I… guess so."

"Oh."

Meryl turned her head away, staring at the far wall as she felt her chest constrict. Blinking, she bit her lip.

_Is that all?_

Even the voice inside her head had grown small.

_Is that what you want? Does that make you happy? After all these months together, all I've done for you, shared with you, __**lived through**__ with you –__ don't I even __**matter**__ to you at all?! _She wanted to scream the last out at him. But the words that came out of her mouth were completely different.

"I just wanted you to know that… I'm fine with… whatever…."

"You're… fine?" he echoed faintly, as if suddenly becoming aware of what she'd been asking.

Meryl jumped up to leave, turning to face Vash one last time, but with head bowed down so that her hair fell forward over her face. She was smiling, but he noticed that her lower lip was trembling.

"Right… that's all. And… and I'll just be going now."

A surge of dread coursed through Vash as his inner voice commanded him into action. _Don't let her leave. Not like this. Don't you __**dare**__ let her leave without making her understand that isn't the whole of it. You have to –_

"NO! No, Meryl, _wait_ – !"

Vash reached out lightening fast to grab her shoulder but miscalculated. As Meryl twisted away, his grasping hand swung down in the air, falling like a scythe through grass. A great, rending sound of delicate material disintegrating filled the room, leaving them to blink at each other for the heartbeat it took to register the origin of the noise: the entire front of her nightshirt was now clenched in his hand.

He looked up. She looked down. Both their eyes boggled.

Vash leapt to his feet, feeling his throat go dry. He fought for something helpful to say.

"W-would you… like your bra back?"

There was a terrific crash.

----------

Milly jerked suddenly, scratched her arm and rolled over. Giggling, she began to drool slightly. "Oh, Nick, please not so quick…"

----------

Vash peered out from a tangle of arms and legs, surveying the wreckage of the bed. Meryl's flying tackle had caught him off guard; otherwise he might have been able to avert their hard landing. The gunman sighed. Fortunately, he hadn't lost his towel. Yet. At that thought he looked over in alarm at Meryl, who was quickly pulling herself back up.

He gulped. If anything the look in her eyes now was positively awe-inspiring. Arms wrapped firmly around her chest, the torn sleeves of her nightshirt hanging loosely from the cuffs about her wrists, Meryl stared down at him. Then turning around she quickly started grabbing every piece of scattered clothing she could lay her hands on. Confused, Vash watched as she hurtled around the room, the mound of clothing growing steadily. He supposed she was getting ready to leave. But then why was she grabbing _his_ coat and things…?

She stopped in front of the window. Vash gasped with realization. He lunged to his feet and hurled himself forward.

"Meryl, DON'T – !"

"THERE!" She heaved everything outside. "We're _even_!"

He slumped against the wall, looking forlornly out the window.

"Now, Vash, if you'll kindly _excuse_ me, I'll be on my way."

"No, you won't."

"YES, I _will_." Turning back around, she folded her arms over her chest. "All I need are my clothes and my keys and… I'll… be…" She gazed about the room. "Where are my things?"

Vash leaned out into the darkness. "Take a wild guess."

----------

Elsewhere, Milly snored the deep sleep of the blissfully unaware.

----------

Vash nervously watched Meryl's backside start to tremble. He was half torn between the desire to throw himself on the floor and beg for mercy or to just start running before she came around.

Instead to his surprise he watched Meryl begin to collapse bonelessly to the floor, a move which frightened him even more. Heedless of her near nakedness, Vash caught her, quickly pulling her into his arms, and was equally relieved and alarmed that she didn't resist – she was shaking too badly. Unconsciously he began to rock her.

"It's okay… it's okay… really, it's okay…"

"I – I just can't take this anymore," came a tremulous whisper from somewhere within his shoulder.

Vash frowned worriedly: it was disconcerting to see her fall apart like this. "Don't worry, Meryl; I can go get everything. Just wait here and I'll be right back."

He moved to disengage her and was surprised to feel her arms suddenly snake around his torso, gripping him firmly. She gave a hollow laugh.

"No, Vash, it's not that… I don't mean _that_. I don't even _care_ about that. It's just… this is so _stupid_. This is all my _fault_. If only I had _never_…"

"I can't… I don't follow you." He stopped rocking, his feeling of disquiet increasing with her shivers. "What is it, Meryl? What's wrong?" he asked gently.

The words seemed to shatter her. "Oh, _why_ do I have to spell it out? _Why_? Don't you even see that much, Vash? Doesn't it matter to you at all?" Meryl let out a heartbroken wail, shuddering violently as she clung to him. "How can I wake up with you in the morning and yet you still have nothing to say about this craziness between us, this constant uncertainty, this awful, _awful__nothing?_ Vash, what if I'm…?" her words faltered, drowned out by tears.

Vash felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over him. Numbness overcame him as flashes of his dreams and troubling thoughts flooded his mind. Knives. Humans. Plants. Angel Arms. There were so many things in dire need of working out; too many problems he had yet to overcome. And there were awful things he still had to answer for. Gung Ho Guns. July. Augusta. … Legato. Wounds that had been inflicted and sins he would always have to bear – Meryl had to understand that.

And still he knew that she was voicing the one question that most urgently needed addressing. He could no longer avoid this – she had a right to it. But the thing she was _asking_ of him… what could he tell her? The end result stood out so clearly in his mind. Rem. Brad. Nicholas D. Wolfwood. An endless stream of unforgettable faces….

But the sight of Meryl breaking down in his arms gnawed at him powerfully.

"Meryl, please calm down." He wondered at the cool steadiness of his voice. "We don't even know yet about… that."

"I _know_, Vash, but what _if_…?"

She was sobbing uncontrollably. "I n-never know what's going to happen next to us, Vash. After all this time traveling with you, I know n-nothing is ever for certain. One day e-everything is fine and the next we're fighting for our l-lives. Today you're here in f-front of me; tomorrow you're n-nowhere to be found. First it was the b-bounty, then it was the Gung Ho Guns. It's your b-brother, it's this world – it's your life, Vash, and it's my job, I _know_ that! All this time I've t-told myself I could handle it, I was f-fine with it, and I really believed it. But it's n-not like that now. I nuh… n-never thought that I would f-fa… I never even _told you_ –!"

His head was reeling. Her words were breaking him, throwing his better judgment into disarray. An inner voice nagged at him that she was merely overwrought – she couldn't really know what she was saying. But deep inside a tiny, defiant spark had been kindled, and Vash began to feel hot and cold at once. "Told me what…?"

"Wuh…w-when you went off to face your br-brother this last time, I thought I would… j-just _die_. I wanted t-to tell you that you had to c-come _back_, because…"

"_Tell me_." It was a cross between a command and a plea.

She drew a long shuddering gasp of air. It steadied her voice somewhat. "B-because I would be… waiting for you. Because I couldn't _bear_ it if I lost you again."

He barely registered Meryl reburying her head in his shoulder. "I-I just can't keep going on like this, not if… not if…," She moaned in a low, desperate voice. "Tell me what to do, Vash, and I _swear_ I'll do it. Just, please, s-say something, _anything_…!"

Her voice dissolved into weeping as Vash stared down at her head. Perhaps for the first time in his life he was completely struck dumb. Wrestling between an equal sense of wonder and disbelief, he sensed that something inside him was threatening to tear loose, a dangerous thing that he shouldn't – _couldn't_ – give into, not if… and yet….

Something red glimmered in the corner of his eye. Vash twisted his head to look outside, realizing in shock that it was the fifth moon. A war of emotions played across his face, as dismay transformed into a defiant glare that faded into somber resignation. Tell _her_ what to do? His lips parted –

_Run away, Meryl. Take Milly and get away from me, as far as you can, and never look back._

– but the words wouldn't come out.

Holding Meryl tightly against him, Vash sighed at his own lack of resolve. His heart, his head – how could he tell her what to do with them so divided? And then suddenly he knew what to say. In the end, there was only one thing that mattered, that could possibly sway him. Or break him. Steeling himself as he gazed skywards, he quietly voiced it.

"Meryl, do you… do you _want_ this?"

A tense moment. He felt her nod silently into his shoulder.

The moon blurred as he felt a wetness seep into his eyes. He lowered his head.

"Me too," he whispered back in a husky voice.

The shuddering stopped. Meryl turned her face upward, searching his eyes for several moments. Vash felt his breath catch in his throat: in the moonlight her eyes shone large and full, startlingly beautiful in their limpid innocence. He had never realized before how much he liked their color.

"R-really?" she choked out, hopefully. "D-do you… really?"

"Yeah… _really_."

And having said it, Vash knew at once that it was true. He let out another sigh, deeper yet more relaxing, and smiled softly at Meryl.

She returned a watery smile before pressing her head back into his chest. Vash watched silently, noting that her sobs had lost their hysterical quality and were steadily growing calmer. He let her finish out her crying, rocking her gently while his thoughts turned towards graver matters. Dying Plants. Revenge Seekers. His Angel Arms. And at the root of it all Knives…

But Knives couldn't control his life anymore.

Making up his mind, Vash pulled Meryl towards the wreckage of the bed. He felt her stumble uncertainly against him, but she didn't pull away – and he was forcibly struck by the dizzying knowledge that without even asking, if he wanted to, he could _have_ her –

But that hadn't been his intention. And… it wasn't the right moment, just yet.

Keeping one arm wrapped around Meryl, Vash reached down with the other to grab hold of the bed sheet. Yanking it free, he quickly flung it about their bodies.

"Come on, Meryl. Let me take you back to your room."

----------

"Well… here we are."

"Yeah… here we are."

They were standing facing each other outside the door of her room, still wrapped loosely within the confines of their improvised shroud. The trip back through the darkened inn had passed without incident, and Meryl supposed she should be feeling relief that it was all over. Instead, she was conscious of the cool night air caressing her skin, the one thin sheet concealing their heated bodies. It was intimate. Much too intimate.

Vash motioned towards the door. "Need some help getting back in?"

"No, it's okay. I didn't lock it," Meryl murmured.

"Well…," Vash cleared his throat nervously. "Er… good night, then."

"… Good night, Vash."

It didn't feel right, just leaving it at that. Meryl felt oddly vexed, as if there was something left undone, something yet to be said. She glanced up at Vash and almost gasped. The look on his face…

He took a step forward. "Meryl, I – ."

Vash stopped short as Meryl's eyes bulged out dangerously. Her eyes watered up, teeth biting down on trembling lips. Startled, he looked down, quickly jerking back his foot from where he had brought it down on top of hers. She took a shuddering gasp. Then –

"VAAAASHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!"

He clamped a hand over her mouth. Too late.

Up and down the hallway, for the umpteenth time that night, lights went on and doors opened as irritated sleepers stuck their heads out. Seeing Vash and Meryl wrapped only in a sheet, arms around each other and startled looks on their red faces, most began to grumble.

"Keep it down!"

"Get a room!"

"Perverts!"

"I thought I recognized those screams." Mildred, tight hair rollers in place, hands clamped firmly over young Jimmy's eyes, scowled derisively at Meryl. "And in _your_ condition! Have you no shame?"

"Oh, Mr. Vash! Meryl!"

They turned to see Milly standing in the open doorway of her room, staring blankly back at them. She suddenly broke into a self-conscious smile. "Oh! Oh, I… I suppose this means you'll want to be alone together tonight. Good night!"

She quickly shut and locked the door. The others followed suit, and soon the lights went out again.

Meryl stood there blinking in astonishment. _What just happened?_

"So…" She turned to see Vash grinning sheepishly down at her. "I guess this means you'll be sleeping with me tonight?"

He managed not to scream too loudly when Meryl brought her foot down on top of his. Hard.

----------


	11. Chapter 10 Morning After, pt1

**Chapter Ten: Morning After, Pt.1**

----------

Vash awoke to his stomach rumbling sourly. Grimacing at the unwelcome reminder of his condition, he rolled over onto his side and froze as he came face to face with his sleeping partner.

Memories surfaced and Vash relaxed. No, Meryl wasn't about to kill him. Somehow, in spite of all the awkwardness of what had transpired last night, something important had finally been established between them, a bond he could no longer ignore. Not that he had any further intention of doing so.

Propping his head up to see Meryl better, Vash leisurely examined her. He was immediately drawn to the short black hair that framed her face: it was starting to grow out, and he couldn't decide which way he preferred it. Shorter hair seemed more like Meryl – so efficient and put together. But longer hair gave her the appearance of vulnerability. As now, when she was asleep and untroubled by the worries of the day, her face lost its usual studied composure. She looked soft, and tender, and tranquil, and –

It suddenly struck him how young she really was.

An uncomfortable thought skittered through Vash's mind. It was not something he often let himself dwell upon, how great the age difference between them. And the root cause for it.

In the first year of his existence, Vash had learned about the cycle of life; he knew that he and Knives matured abnormally fast by human standards. But it wasn't until after the Fall that he could really appreciate the developmental difference between mankind and himself. He was fully grown by the time most children were just learning to form a complete sentence. At first Vash wondered if it meant he was going to die that much quicker. If so… maybe it wasn't such a bad thing. That much sooner to being reunited with Rem. And that much less time for Knives to inflict his malice on humanity.

But then he and Knives reached a point where they seemed to stop aging entirely. So then Vash figured that perhaps his life span may have been that of an average human's after all, even if his Plant physiology kept him appearing ageless. And if that was the case – well, it wasn't such a bad deal, was it?

Indeed, during those first few decades of life, Vash had felt it was kind of a cool gift. How exciting it was, when he had finally left Knives, to wander through the growing human settlements and observe first hand those former silent charges alive and thriving before him. Not all the lessons, nor the archival footage, nor even the fond recollections of Rem could have prepared him for the dizzying variety present in humanity. More than anything, Vash wanted to experience everything as would take a young man a lifetime to achieve – which _he_ surely had in abundance. So he let his youthful enthusiasm and insatiable curiosity carry him from place to place across the harsh wastelands, fancifully envisioning himself a romantic pursuer of an eternal spring.

Then one day, when Vash was in his thirties, he was passing by a church when its bells began to peal. He stopped to watch the crowd milling in front. The doors opened, revealing a happy bride and groom descending the steps to the enthusiastic well-wishing of their audience. Vash likewise began to clap, and he was adding his own shouted blessing on the couple when his gaze fell on the groom – a tall, blond man with laughing green eyes. Vash's cheer died in his throat and he watched, transfixed, as the young man led his bride into the waiting carriage. And at that moment it struck him that, were he human, were his life anywhere within the realm of "normal," he also would have likely been married and starting his own family. This thought left Vash so disconcerted that he immediately inveigled his way into the reception and drank himself senseless that night.

It wasn't until his forties, however, that Vash really started to notice the effect his agelessness was having on the people around him – it was not always so safe to make an appearance in a town he'd visited a decade or so earlier, if he ran into someone who recognized him. It was in New India that he'd first been called a freakish monster, Redesta where he had first been stoned out of town. He began to see how much less trusting the population was becoming since the Fall – much more likely to raise a fist than lend a helping hand. And then one day Vash was sitting before a mirror while dressing his wounds, when he realized that the only way he could physically mark his age was by counting the accumulated scars on his body. He stared at himself for a long time afterwards.

At age fifty Vash began again to be preoccupied by thoughts of his own mortality. The steady population decline brought on by the planet's harsh environment and lack of natural resources had greatly reduced the majority of the original survivors of the Fall. Of those remaining, the difficulty of scratching out a tenuous existence had dramatically shortened their life spans; they were all quickly passing away. Vash saw that in a very real sense his generation was passing on without him, and it was unnerving. He was standing in the Founder's Memorial Cemetery on the outskirts of December, reading the names on the tombstones when his eyes fell on a red paper flower left on a grave. And it came to him that Rem, even had she survived, even though she had been relatively young and so full of life, would almost certainly by now have been buried as well.

All through that night he cried anew with the ferocity of his first day on the planet.

In the following decades as he continued on his solitary travels, Vash wondered if, maybe, one day it would finally hit him – as in his first year, all of a sudden he would slide into rapid old age and pass on. If so, then perhaps Knives would at last be stopped as well. Vash was now quickly approaching the age that would have been the limit of a normal human's life, at least prior to the Fall….

And then one day, when visiting his "family" aboard the SEEDS ship, Vash overheard a mother talking to her young children. For the first time he heard the expression "the ones who exist outside of time," and realized that they were referring to him. And finally he acknowledged that he may never die – certainly, that his life was always meant to span much farther than any human's ever could. It seemed like a horrible obscenity – all the more so, because Knives had long ago told him the same thing, and Vash had stubbornly refused to believe it.

So it was that Vash reluctantly came to the conclusion that, at least in this matter, there was practical merit in concentrating on living in the moment. And yet at the same time, it was precisely because of his agelessness that he felt stuck in neutral.

Almost a century of life and what did he have to show for it? If he were a human, he could have led a peaceful, productive life. He might have been anybody: a farmer, an engineer, maybe a teacher… yes, he would have liked that. Human, he would have had his family – large and extended, he'd have seen to that. He would have enjoyed watching his children and grandchildren and maybe even great-grandchildren caper and clamber all over him, merrily pulling at his long, gray beard as old age finally took its toll on him….

If he were a human, he would have died long before Meryl was ever born.

And Vash was suddenly very glad that he'd been able to meet her. As he hovered over her dormant form, a mental vision came to him. He was a child again, standing still on the observatory deck of the Project SEEDS ship looking out on the endless ocean of space. Pinpricks of light glimmering in distance gradually drew near, growing to become distinct fiery balls, until drawing even with the ship they blazed out in all their incandescent glory – and then whipped by, falling away so that their bright light grew ever dimmer until softly fading out into the vast darkness. Meryl was like one of them. Unbeknown to him through all those long years she had been rushing up to meet him. Now at last she had drawn even. And she would eventually pass him by.

Vash wondered if he could hold her still next to him, if only for moment.

He recalled the midwife's words – that nothing manmade was eternal – and he felt sure that it was true of himself. He was _not_ immortal. But he was very, very long lived. And regardless of whatever longevity he had been haplessly blessed or cursed with, it was no excuse not to live at all. Now at last Vash felt prepared to handle it. He had meant what he'd said last night – even if it was arguably foolish, he really _did_ want something more. Much more. He already had a century's worth of experience watching the wheel of life pass him by. It was time to start moving on – pushing his way back on, if he had to.

But… was Meryl truly able to accept it? A short life with an ageless Vash, together…

… as one?

Tentatively, Vash reached out his hand to Meryl's face. Very gently, he traced a finger along her cheek and brushed aside a lock of hair. He wanted to fix the moment forever in his memory.

Of Meryl's face… quickly growing green before his eyes.

Vash felt an answering rumble emanate from his stomach. He felt himself sicken as an unpleasant noise escaped from his mouth.

Meryl's eyes suddenly flew open.

"Vash, what the heck are you -?" But she abruptly stopped, her cheeks bulging out dangerously. They stared at each other in alarm.

Then, as one, they leapt up from the bed and hurled themselves into the bathroom.

----------

Some time later, Meryl fell back onto her side of the bed and closed her eyes. The vision of Vash hovering mere inches from her face, looking for the world as if he was about to heave all over her had brought Meryl to her senses faster than any alarm clock could have managed. Which was fortunate, really. She watched Vash stagger back and slide in heavily next to her.

"This is getting old," she grumbled.

Vash glanced over and flashed a slight smile. "Well… maybe not entirely old," he murmured softly.

Meryl felt herself coloring up. "Maybe not," she replied shyly.

They both fell quiet, though neither looked away.

"Meryl…," he began hesitantly.

"Yes, Vash?"

The expression on Vash's face reminded her forcefully of the way he had been looking at her last night – at least, right before he had ruined the moment. But she wasn't going to dwell on that, not when it seemed he was going to finish his aborted address.

"I've been thinking about… a lot of things. Especially about the time we've been together. I know it hasn't been easy for you and Milly. Always on the move. Always in danger. I don't really understand why you and Milly decided to take the assignment to follow me, or why, after everything that has happened, you're both still here with me."

Meryl immediately opened her mouth to argue but was stopped by fingers pressing gently against her lips.

"But even when I didn't want you following after me, you've always been there. And the truth is that I wouldn't be here today if it wasn't for you. That day when I was being drug around town… it was the closest I've ever come to giving up _everything_. So I've been meaning to tell you… just how indebted, how _grateful_ I am to you both. Thank you for saving my life. Thank you, Meryl, for saving _me_."

Her chest tightened. It was the first time Vash had referred to the incident with Legato Bluesummers without heart rending self-recrimination. The fact that he didn't blame her for any of it pierced her to her very soul. She felt she would tear up, but refused to give way. Now was not the moment. And Vash wasn't finished:

"Meryl, I can't promise that things will become any easier from here on out. In fact, I'm sure they won't. Trouble is likely to follow me no matter where I go. Knives will wake up someday and I'll have to deal with that. And there are other… issues," he added in a faltering voice. "And so… I'll completely understand if… if you don't want to…."

He stopped. Reaching forward, Vash pulled her hands up, carefully enfolding them within his own. His eyes held hers, their earnest expression filled with such emotion that Meryl again experienced a sense of déjà vu: the intensity of his gaze was swallowing her whole, and helplessly she was falling, falling, _falling_ –

She couldn't breathe. She was a complete mess. Yet she had never felt more desirable in her entire life.

Vash nervously cleared his throat, while Meryl felt as if her heart would implode from the lack of air. And then, he spoke:

"Meryl Stryfe, will you please m–."

Suddenly, the door crashed open.

" – muh…_myuh_… _M-MILLY_!?!" Vash yelped as he accidentally tumbled backward onto the floor, clutching at his towel protectively.

In a stunned daze, Meryl quickly twisted around and was flabbergasted to see her partner standing in the doorway, looking quite abashed as she wrestled with a large bundle. She was at a loss as to why Milly would be so uncharacteristically thoughtless as to barge in on them unannounced, when to her horror, Meryl recognized Vash's boots and her own white cape struggling to escape from Milly's grasp. Among other things. She felt her jaw drop open.

"Oh, Ma'am, Mr. Vash, I'm – I'm _sorry_! I didn't mean to interrupt, er, anything."

Milly bowed in hasty apology, an action that sent some more items tumbling to the floor. She let out an embarrassed laugh.

"I just thought you might be needing these back… Maybe not _right_ at this moment, but eventually…"

"… Thank you," inserted Meryl hollowly.

"They were outside scattered all over the place. People were staring."

A bit flustered at the uncomfortable silence, Milly glanced over at the open window, then quickly back towards Meryl and Vash, who had both remained paralyzed since her entrance. Her eyes widened in surprise.

"Oh dear, the bed is broken! Did you sleep well?"

They flinched. Blushing slightly, Milly brought her hand up and lightly rapped it against her head.

"Silly, silly Milly! Always stating the obvious, like my Big Big Brother would often tell me. You had to have been sleeping pretty well to manage that, right? Er… anyway, see you at breakfast!"

Milly unceremoniously dropped the bundle on the floor and made to leave. But she paused with her hand on the doorknob.

"Wait a minute… that's not everything I came in here for."

Milly appeared to be momentarily struggling with herself. Then as she turned back around, Meryl noticed that her face was no longer pink. Rather Milly looked determined as she came to stand next to the foot of the bed, looking at Vash and Meryl firmly. They both gaped at her wordlessly.

"I have something I've been meaning to say to you since yesterday. _Both_ of you. You've been acting kind of odd and secretive, and there's been no reason for it. So I wanted to let you guys know how I feel about all this –."

Meryl trembled, a fist of cold guilt twisting in her stomach. Even Vash seemed to be tensed. Was Milly finally going to let them have it?

"I'm just so HAPPY for you guys! It's about TIME you two got together! You have no idea how MUCH I've been rooting for you both! And I'm _sure_ I know exactly what Mr. Wolfwood would say –!"

Meryl saw her gaze dip briefly down to the bed then up again. She flashed them an exultant thumbs up.

"YOU _GO_, MR. VASH!!!"

Then she hurriedly exited the room.

"_Hyuh_… HOLD it, Milly!" Vash hollered as he stumbled up from the floor. "It's not what it looks like! I mean, not _exactly_ –!"

He looked bewilderedly at Meryl, who responded by rolling over on to her stomach.

"Oh, what's the use anymore?" she groaned into the sheets.

----------


	12. Chapter 11 Morning After, pt2

**Chapter Eleven: Morning After, Pt.2**

----------

Meryl stood in the bathroom, struggling to brush the dust off her clothes and smooth out the wrinkles. She gave her blouse a final shake, holding it up to the ceiling light. Grimacing, she made a mental note that white clothing, while cool and flattering, didn't hold up well to extended desert travel. She sighed in resignation, and then hurriedly began dressing so as to exit the unpleasant smelling area as soon as possible.

Pulling black tights up over her legs, Meryl's thoughts drifted to Vash. Did he almost just say what she thought he was going to say? Her heart fluttered for what felt like the hundredth time that morning.

If it really was… would he say it again? And, more importantly, if he _did_… what would _she_ say?

Unexpectedly, a twinge of doubt entered her mind.

_Yes, what would I – no, make that__** should**__ – I say?_

Meryl suddenly wondered if this wasn't all a bit too hasty. It wasn't even twenty-four hours previously that she had been struggling with making her feelings known to Vash – and now _this_? Vash hadn't even said so much as an "I love you." They'd never even been on a _date_. Actually, there were a lot of things he'd never done to her….

Meryl thought back over her strange relationship with Vash. For most of their acquaintance, Vash hadn't been completely open or honest with her. True, he had his reasons, but… hadn't she and Milly repeatedly proved their trustworthiness early on? And regardless hadn't he always ditched them time and again? During the interminable period following the disastrous Fifth Moon incident, when she'd spent countless hours wondering if he was dead or alive, had he ever once tried to make contact? Even after they were all reunited, it was disconcerting how little had changed – if anything, Vash was _more_ deliberately elusive than ever. It took a tragedy before he finally told them anything about his past, and that because Meryl had finally demanded answers. And then… oh, what a disaster had followed.

He had only started calling Meryl by her first name just a month ago, right after he returned from his gunfight with Knives, and that was because she had bopped him on the head for calling her "Insurance Girl." Rarely sharing anything deeply personal, shutting himself off whenever he was upset, staring at her across a table in a smoke filled room… In many silent, subtle ways, Vash still kept her at a distance. How did he _really_ feel about her?

Yes, Vash had come back after his fight – but then, he couldn't very well take off into the wastelands with the condition Knives had been in. And their town was about the only one left in that region not in total disarray. It was not specifically her that Vash had returned for. It was to take care of Knives – and knowing this Meryl had done what she could to put Vash's mind at ease. He was so worried, especially when Knives took his turn for the worse, and although Vash had seemed grateful, he never said very much directly to her about it. They had never gone back to sit on the cliff before they had to leave, and later aboard the SEEDS ship they had been under constant stress with the suspicious people and Jessica that there was little time for private moments.

But this morning, hadn't he been telling her "thank you?" And last night – Vash had said he wanted a relationship with her, right?

Right after he asked her what _she_ wanted, a little voice whispered. Right after she came blubbering to him like a fool. What kind of man would he have to be to turn her away flat? She knew from experience that Vash could be too nice, give in too easily… more so when he was feeling guilty or sorry for someone.

Her fingers fumbled over the buttons of her blouse.

Not to mention completely irresponsible. It was _so_ like Vash – too impulsive for his own good, never thinking anything through. She was still an employee of Bernardelli, albeit somewhat AWOL these past few months. At the very least she and Milly were due for a performance review; she could be recalled at any time. And then there would be the conflict of interest issue, should she join with the man responsible for an astronomical amount of the planet's property damage. And on top of that what would they do for a living, should they actually get married? Vash wasn't exactly a working man. _She_ would be the breadwinner, and ….

Meryl yanked on a boot, growing angrier by the minute.

And what _would_ Vash do? Gad about all day while _she_ was stuck doing all the work? Freeload and snort donuts and not expend an ounce of energy on planning for the future? How in the world were they to manage a coherent Knives? And what about the welfare of their children?!?

Meryl paused in the middle of lacing up a boot, feeling both foolish and vexed at having that particular thought pop into her head. She was getting too far ahead of herself. And yet….

And yet…

Is _that_ was this is all about? Was it all only because Vash thought she might be pregnant?

A nauseous wave set Meryl's head spinning, and she stumbled hard against the wall, before finally sinking down on the ledge of the bathtub. She blinked hard, watching the tiles swim formlessly before her eyes, waiting for it to pass.

"Meryl, are you all right?" Vash's voice broke through the haze. "I heard a bang."

Her head shot up, mouth pressed into a sad, angry frown. She would have it out with him right now. Unmindful of the half-laced boot, Meryl reached for the door and yanked it open.

"Vash, I – !"

She paused. Vash was standing before her half-dressed, hair in total disarray, regarding her with a slight crease on his brow. It was so hard to think rationally when he was looking at her like that.

"… It's nothing – I'll see you downstairs."

Meryl averted her gaze and scurried out the door, avoiding the confused expression on Vash's face.

----------

"_Aaaah_, Ma'am, isn't it such a beautiful morning?" said Milly, far too brightly. Before her was arranged a steaming platter of sausage, eggs and bacon; a basket of fresh baked bread and pastries; a bowl of fruit; a cup of yogurt; a tray of mixed spreads; and a small pitcher of syrup, which Milly was generously pouring over a short stack of pancakes.

Meryl watched irritably from across the table.

"Honestly, Milly – aren't you even the _tiniest_ bit sick?"

"Well, yeah, I _was_ a little queasy again when I woke up this morning." Milly reached for the butter. "But I feel just fine now."

Meryl watched nauseously as Milly cut a heaping slab and slathered it all over a roll. She frowned suspiciously.

"Did you take anything? Any _tea_?"

"Yah, I ahready had thum dis m'ning." Milly swallowed. "Right after I got up. Settled me right down. There's plenty more left – why don't you have some?"

"I just don't get it…," grumbled Meryl, who readily snatched the pouch and began to dump spoonfuls into her mug. As she stirred Vash came ambling in. He took one glance at Milly's breakfast, grimaced briefly (proof positive of serious illness to Meryl's mind) and slid into a chair. She pushed the mug towards him.

How in the world could she and Vash _still_ be so ill? None of them had hardly anything solid to eat the previous day. She was sure the medicinal tea that Dolores had given them would work… for a brief while she thought it _had_ last night…. And yet here they were the next day, sick as ever.

She looked suspiciously at Dolores's medicinal pouch, suddenly remembering the waitress' words.

_Anyway, if I recall she used to treat people years ago. Or poison them._

An unpleasant thought shot through her.

_Impossible_, Meryl chided herself. They had been feeling sick since _before_ coming into contact with Dolores. Shrugging off her suspicion, Meryl lifted the mug to her lips and sipped. _Too bad it's not __**real **__Tea Tonic_, she mussed. And then her eyes snapped wide open.

Suddenly it tasted noticeably bitter.

_I don't believe it. _

Unpleasant ideas flitted through Meryl's mind. She recalled the details of a mass poisoning case a fellow Bernardelli agent had once investigated, about a sad, bizarre plot undertaken by a disturbed homemaker to disguise killing her husband. But Dolores just didn't strike her as someone who would do such a thing: she'd been gruff, but hadn't she also been helpful? She had _liked_ Dolores, and wasn't she a good judge of character? After all, hadn't she known Vash was completely full of it from the first moment they'd met…?

_Oh, yes, you're an__** excellent**__ judge of character, Stryfe_.

But that of itself meant nothing. What _motive_ was there? Hadn't the criminal housewife ultimately been trying to collect on a life insurance policy? So what exactly would Dolores have to gain by poisoning _them_? Or maybe it wasn't _specifically_ her group….

_So they're still calling me a witch, is that it?_

"No… _no_… It's only in my imagination," Meryl whispered softly as she set her mug down, accidentally sloshing tea onto the table. She suddenly realized that her hand was trembling.

"Meryl? What is it?"

She looked up to see both Milly and Vash staring at her concernedly. Meryl hesitated, briefly recalling the visage of the surly midwife. And then she leaned forward to talk to them quietly.

"Guys, lis- ."

"YOU LIAR! WHAT DO YOU MEAN THERE ISN'T ANY MORE?"

The dining room fell quiet as everyone turned towards source of the shouting: a man was leaning over the counter, grabbing a waiter by the collar. His face was a sickly yellow, though quickly purpling from rage. Meryl placed him from the crowd of people waiting to see Doctor Wilde.

"You told me _yesterday_ that you'd have more in TODAY – why ELSE do you think I'd still be _stuck_ waiting around in this STINKING _backward__hick town_?!"

"Sir, please, it's not our fault! The shipment never came in this morning!"

"So when _WILL_ it come in?"

"It _won't,"_ a new voice broke in.

Another man was standing in the doorway, looking agitatedly around the room. There were murmurs among the clientele. "What do you mean by that, Clyde?" called out someone.

"I mean last night someone broke into the bottling factory and destroyed the entire shipment! There isn't going to be any more Wilde's Tonic for at least another week!"

This provoked a mix of shocked and furious outcries among the diners, and the room quickly erupted into a cacophony of arguments. Meryl glanced worriedly at the medicinal pouch now clutched in her hand, trying to gather her troubled thoughts when loud thump distracted her.

"Won't somebody _please_ wake me up from this nightmare?" moaned Vash from where he had fallen against the table.

"Yeah, I've had to pinch myself a few times already. It's been getting harder and harder to tell what's real and what's make-believe these past few days," mussed Milly. "Especially when the hallucinations are so realistic that you're convinced it's really happening. But there's a trick on how to tell the difference, Mr. Vash, all you have to do is –."

"Milly, what the _HELL_ are you talking about?!" interjected Meryl, when another interruption came.

A small man burst into the dining room, looking excited in spite of his sickly disposition. His watery eyes fairly shone through a veil of perspiration.

"Everyone – they just caught the culprit! They're bringing her outside the sheriff's office right now!"

"Who is it, Ellis?" demanded an angry man.

"It's that crazy midwife – the one who lives out in the canyon. Old Dolores Hawthorne."

For a moment, the room fell still in shocked silence. It was soon pierced by a shrieking woman's voice, which Meryl immediately recognized to be Mildred's.

"I just knew it! I _knew_ it!!! Didn't I _tell_ you, Harold? _Didn't I always tell you that she was no good?!"_

"Aye, woman, that you did," agreed Harold, who had suddenly lost his phlegmatic disposition. His eyes flashed with a hard flintiness – an expression shared by many others around them, Meryl noticed, horrified at how rapidly the atmosphere had taken an ugly turn. Fists clenched, Harold stood up and gesticulated to the room.

"Well, folks, what say you? Shall we go pay that Angel of Death one last visit?"

There was a roar of approval and a mass of people surged around him, quickly forming into an angry shouting mob as they poured out of the dining room into the street. A chant sprang up among the departing crowd.

"C'MON – LET'S GO BURN THE WITCH!"

"BURN THE WITCH!"

"_BURN THE WITCH!!!"_

"_Oh, no!_" Meryl quickly turned back to face the others. "Quick, we have to – ."

But Vash was already out the window.

----------


	13. Chapter 12 Accusations, pt1

**Chapter Twelve: Accusations, Pt.1**

----------

Milly stood on the walkway, scanning the swarming crowd for a sign of a familiar blond head, heedless of the mild cursing emanating from Meryl struggling to clamber out the window behind her. She spotted a flash of red just as it whipped around a corner, where the main crush of people was directed.

"Good thing he's wearing his coat," she remarked.

"Yeah, great. All the better to track his sorry a-AHHH!!!" Meryl shrieked as she tumbled over the ledge onto the walkway.

Milly was glad that she had brought the coat back. She hadn't realized that Vash had left it behind on purpose. That evening after Vash's return, while he and Meryl were preoccupied with Knives, she had quietly slipped out into desert. Though she had no clear idea in which direction to head, somehow she had still known where to go – perhaps, Milly reasoned later, it was simply that she had been following the call in her heart. She traveled across several dunes until, cresting a ridge, she spotted the object of her search: a heavy cross bathed in red moonlight, standing crookedly in the sand. Running the last few yarzs, she drew close to Cross Punisher, throwing her arms around it and pulling it close. Grateful tears poured down her face.

"So did you manage to save him, too, Nick?"

_A man lays down his life for his friends, honey_, she imagined the desert whisper back to her.

Milly had her moment to gather herself, and slung Cross Punisher easily over her shoulder. It was as she turned to head back when she spotted the pile of dark material that lay in a heap almost at her feet. Dragging it out of the sand, she recognized the fabric immediately: Vash's red coat. Wondering once again why Vash had left it behind, she nevertheless bundled the coat up and started the trek into town.

He finally put the coat on again when they'd had to travel to the ship. "Jessica might be upset if I lost it so soon," he remarked, though Milly suspected he wouldn't have worn it if he'd had something else. Even now, she had the feeling he donned it merely as an afterthought. It was only one of many clues that Milly understood to mean that there was something significantly different about Vash, even if Meryl didn't seem to realize it yet.

But maybe she was finally catching on.

----------

Vash flew down the hard-packed dirt street, weaving expertly through the crowd and moving amazingly well for a man with a bad case of the backdoor trots. He soon arrived outside the local jail house – easy to find given the commotion on its doorsteps – and was confronted with a painfully familiar tableau: two impassive deputies holding their grim prisoner between them, while around them swirled an angry mob, shouting threats and portending violence. Vash sighed, then quickly focused his attention on Dolores. He was relieved to see that she looked disheveled yet unhurt, but wondered if that would change shortly.

Suddenly an empty bottle hurtled through the air, smashing against the jail house wall a few feet above Dolores's head. The midwife did not flinch. Instead she stood ramrod straight, chin jutting out, and stared challengingly back at the mob as if daring someone to come at her. It gave Vash pause, wondering at her bold if reckless defiance, when he noticed her expression suddenly shift from cool disdain to cold fury. A man had just stepped out of the crowd and came to stand facing Dolores, causing the angry din to quickly die down.

"I knew it would come to this one day," said Thomas Wilde, his steely eyes reflecting an equal measure of acrimony back at the midwife. A full head shorter than the doctor, Dolores reared up to confront him, much to the discomfit of her captors.

"Oh, you did? So was this your plan from the start, then, when you decided to sew the town up in your pocket?" she demanded angrily.

"I didn't 'sew up' this town so much as enlighten everyone as to what kind of a medical _quack_ you really are," remarked Thomas coldly, whose composed voice simmered with underlying hostility. "People came to my practice of their own volition – as anyone with _sense_ naturally would," he added.

"You arrogant little…," Dolores hissed, straining against her bonds. Vash had the feeling that if the two deputies hadn't been holding her back, she would have taken a swing at Thomas. "You think a fancy December education makes you so much smarter than the rest of us. And yet you remain so _ignorant_ of subtleties of your profession. You have no appreciation for –."

"Ignorant?" interrupted Thomas with a dry laugh. "That's rich, coming from you. You're the one with no true appreciation for the complexities of the profession. If you hadn't been so stubbornly narrow minded about everything and let me apply some _real_ medical knowledge…."

"Don't condescend to me! My methods may be old but that doesn't make them worthless – and I know my limitations! But you assume that everything can be cured just by throwing any newfangled notion at it, no matter how reckless, how _untried_…."

"My techniques are _not_ unfounded. They are all based on solid, sound_ research_! And they can make all the difference between life and death – or wasn't your last victim proof enough for _you_?"

For the briefest of moments, Vash thought he saw something haunted and broken flash from the depths of the midwife's pale eyes. Then a well of hatred quickly filled the icy blue glare, disconcertingly reminding him of Knives.

"You're not God; you don't know that," Dolores replied shakily.

"What I _do_ know is that I don't drag my feet in the ground for fear that something might not work – I may take risks, but only when I have to, only when the alternative is to sit back and do _nothing_!"

"Life," said Dolores, trembling with emotion, "Isn't something to gamble with, Wilde – especially when the life in question _isn't your own_."

"And since when did _you_ have the last word about who can and can't 'risk' their life – especially when that said life _doesn't concern you anymore_?"

"Doesn't concern me? How in _blazes_ do you figure that it _doesn't concern me_?!"

"BECAUSE SHE WAS MY _WIFE,_ DAMN YOU!" roared Dr. Wilde, losing all remaining composure. "YOU HAD NO RIGHT TO INTERFERE WITH US, WITH THE CHOICES WE HAD TO MAKE! AND IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT THAT SHE DIED!"

"YOU HEARTLESS BASTARD, SHE WAS MY _DAUGHTER_!" screamed Dolores. "I HAD EVERY RIGHT TO SEE THAT YOUR ACTIONS WERE IN HER BEST INTERESTS – AND HOW DARE YOU SAY THAT I WOULD EVER HAVE WILLINGLY LET MY BABY DIE?"

"YOUR baby, is that what she was?" The doctor's voice was thick with bitterness."So you say you wouldn't let 'your' baby die –_ but what about mine?!?_"

For a moment, Vash noted, the street became almost preternaturally quiet, an outdoor equivalent of having the air sucked out of a room. Dolores staggered as if she'd received a physical blow. When she spoke again, her voice sounded unnaturally high.

"What exactly are you _saying_, Wilde?"

"How stupid do you think I am? Did you really think I wouldn't make the connection? It was _you_ who slipped her that last batch of your 'specialty' tea – the one that caused her to _bleed to death_."

"Oh, my," came Milly's soft gasp, catching Vash unaware – he hadn't noticed at what point during the argument the two insurance agents slipped up beside him. He felt slight pressure on his right arm as Meryl's hand gripped him unsteadily, causing him to glance down at her. He was surprised to see that she was trembling as she stared at Dolores. There was a collective murmur from the crowd.

"You _blind fool_…," The midwife, so defiant only a moment before, seemed to sag in on herself. "It wasn't meant to… that was only to relieve her pain, to purge her system. It was never supposed to –!"

"If it wasn't, Hawthorne – and I don't believe you for a minute – that still means you're nothing but an inept, backward, menace to society… and a _poisoner_," spat Thomas.

Dolores surged back to life. She lurched forward so violently that she dragged her guards forward, forcing Thomas to take an involuntary step backwards as she stared him down.

"_Poisoner_? You twisted, malicious, two-faced LIAR! _You're_ the one who's been poisoning everyone with your hypocritical posturing and false promises! Don't forget that I _know_ what you put into those bottles!"

Thomas paled, though with fear or fury Vash couldn't discern.

"Say what you want – _my_ hands are clean."

Turning his back on her, Thomas pushed his way into the crowd and disappeared. The gap he left was quickly filled with townsfolk, milling and muttering, their agitation increasing by the second. Vash could scent the danger. He was running various intervention scenarios through his mind, trying to pick the best one when he spotted a group of men step forward from throng. They approached Dolores, who though regarding them defiantly appeared resigned. Vash suspected strongly that her guards wouldn't do anything to prevent her from coming to harm. He was about to move forward when another man, wearing only his pants and galluses, suddenly appeared from behind the deputies and planted himself in the path of the would-be lynchers. Wordlessly, he drew a gun and trained it on the leading man, stopping him dead in his tracks.

"Don't get in our way, Stockton," muttered Harold, who nevertheless kept his gaze focused on the pistol aimed squarely between his eyes.

Stockton coolly appraised the mob.

"Last I checked, Martin, _I_ was still Sheriff – and anyone who's got a problem with that can take it up with _me_ directly." Turning from Harold to face the crowd, he raised his voice pointedly. "You all know the law – the prisoner will have her day in court, and anyone with an accusation can face her _then_. Now seeing as we've got that straight… CLEAR OUT!!!"

There was another outbreak of angry muttering, but the mob seemed checked for the moment as Harold and the others skulked away. Sheriff Stockton meanwhile turned sharply to his deputies.

"And what the hell are you two idiots doing still standing out here with the prisoner? Get her inside _now_!"

Vash watched as the deputies hastily scrambled to move Dolores inside the jail house. As the crowd began to slowly disperse around him, he made up his mind, and took a step towards the sheriff.

One second later, he was not surprised to find the pistol aimed steadily at his chest.

"You looking to pick a fight, boy?"

Vash flashed his customary lopsided grim as he waved placating hands in the air.

"Actually, I wouldn't _dream_ of taking on a big tough guy like you. I can't stand pain. Can we talk?"

Stockton cocked a leery eyebrow, but slowly lowered the gun. That was good. Vash had been sure that he detected the sheriff's trigger finger twitch faintly just a moment ago.

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	14. Chapter 13 Accusations, pt2

**Chapter Thirteen: Accusations, Pt.2**

----------

The interior of the Bowe's Flats jail house was typical of many small towns that Vash and the girls had passed through – spare, plain, and totally lacking in amenities. The trio found themselves standing around Sheriff Stockton's weatherworn desk, the man himself reclining in the lone chair, taking it in turn to observe each one of them impassively while Vash tried fruitlessly to appeal to his sympathy. The better part of an hour had passed in this manner before Stockton finally stirred himself to answer.

"Mighty persistent, aren't you? But answer me this, boy, before we go another hour. You her lawyer? Her priest? Some long lost next-of-kin?"

"Er, no…."

"Then I still can't see how this is any of your business, stranger."

Vash sagged. Groaning in frustration, Meryl pushed herself forward and leaned over the desk.

"Sheriff Stockton, please let me introduce myself. I'm Meryl Stryfe, and I represent the Bernardelli Insurance Society. It's my understanding that there was a incident involving property destruction at your local bottling factory, and as your prisoner seems to have some alleged connection to it, I need to know everything I can about her to complete my investigation."

The Sheriff continued to calmly chew on his toothpick, as he gave Meryl another dispassionate once-over, then Milly, then Vash again. Seconds ticked by in the silent office, Meryl silently struggling not to lose her patience with the obstinate man. Just as she was ready to give up hope, he gave the slightest of shrugs.

"All right, seeing as you're all determined not to take a hint. Dolores Hawthorne was once a rather well-respected member of this community many years back, if a little unconventional and opinionated. She got into a few tiffs and stepped on some toes, but in truth she was no worse than many others. But Mrs. Hawthorne had a lot of influence, because she and her husband were some of the few people around these parts with any medical training and she was very good at her work."

"Thomas Wilde became their apprentice when he was just a young boy. He eventually fell in love with the daughter, Melinda Hawthorne, and they got married. They practiced medicine together for a little while, but Wilde wanted to travel to December to attend the medical university, and Dolores was against it – she didn't want to be so far away from her daughter. I don't know, maybe there was more to it, but Thomas and she started having problems from that time."

"Eventually Wilde broke away from the Hawthornes and established his own medical practice, with Melinda as his partner. I don't know if Melly was too happy about the state of affairs in her family. Things were a little tense in town, with some people sticking to Doc and Dolores and others switching to Thomas and Mel. It was like that for a year, and then the sickness struck. Afterwards, Thomas left for December. We thought he had left for good, but then he reappeared a few years later and reestablished his practice. Except that he made a point to go after Dolores's patients and never missed a chance to publicly denounce her."

"Things got really ugly when he started marketing his Tea Tonic. Dolores got downright uncivil.

What finished her in the esteem of the town, however, was when the story of what happened to Mel began to leak out."

"Er… what exactly happened?" Meryl asked tentatively.

"Melinda was pregnant when she contracted the illness. She was being treated by both her mother and her husband, neither of whom could agree on the best course of action. In any case, according to Thomas, Dolores slipped Mel an abortive agent in a misguided attempt to save her life. According to Dolores, it was the exact same medicinal tea she gave to all her patients."

Unconsciously hugging herself, Meryl stepped away from the desk and accidentally backed into Vash. He placed a steadying arm around her and leaned forwards.

"She killed her own daughter?"

For a moment, Stockton looked lost in thought. Then he sighed deeply.

"As it was, we found insufficient evidence to charge her with anything – not that it made any difference in the eyes of the town by that point. Who wants to be at the mercy of a medic who killed her own daughter?"

"Sheriff," said Milly plaintively, "You don't really believe that Mrs. Hawthorne would deliberately try to harm the townsfolk?"

"What I know, Miss, is that the reclusive Mrs. Hawthorne was caught in the immediate vicinity of the incident and has a long standing grudge against Mr. Wilde. Frankly, I'm plum out of patience with her eco-terrorist tactics. And should anyone die from this latest bout of illness, I'll hold her criminally liable for her sabotage of our medical supply."

----------

"Good grief, what a mess," sighed Meryl as she carefully picked her way around the remains of a hundred thousand shattered bottles and packing crates that littered the floor of A&J Bottling. After the scene inside Sheriff Stockton's office, she had insisted on coming to the crime scene, hoping that work would calm her roiling thoughts. Unfortunately, it wasn't working.

"It certainly was a thorough job, Ma'am," agreed Milly, who was cautiously poking through a large sticky pile of debris. "And this level of damage must have taken several hours to make – probably even all of last night."

"Meaning whoever did this was _really_ determined to make sure there was nothing whatsoever left of Tea Tonic, either in storage or in production."

"Pity that," groaned Vash as he mournfully examined one of the damaged mixing vats.

Meryl eyed Vash warily, wondering if it would occur to him to try licking the floor, and if she could muster sufficient force to pry him off should he try. Shaking her head, she again surveyed the wreckage and calculated the damage estimate, and it suddenly occurred to her that she couldn't remember the last time she filed a report where Vash hadn't been directly or indirectly involved.

An unsettling feeling of rustiness filled Meryl. How twisted was it that she found some reassurance in handling Vash the Stampede incidents? As horrible as they were, in the end she had discovered that there was a reason behind them all. Now again faced with an unknown, she felt oddly wrong-footed and found herself pondering the same question that invariably plagued her ever since she first became an investigator.

_How angry, how desperate, how crazy does a person have to be to go through all this effort to utterly destroy someone else's property? Why? What do they really gain by it?_

_Did Mrs. Hawthorne… Dolores… really do all this? If she did, then why did she help us?_

_**Did**__ she help us?_

As if on cue, Meryl's stomach suddenly clenched painfully, causing her to lean heavily against a wall until the spasm passed.

"Are you all right?" asked Vash, abandoning his inspection of the vats to come up behind her.

"My stomach hurts," grumbled Meryl.

"Gas?" inquired Milly politely, who likewise had given up on the crates.

Irritated, Meryl smacked her arm against her partner and turned back to face Vash. He quickly threw up his hands.

"I didn't say anything!"

Meryl felt her temper flaring. "It's not THAT! Look…," She pushed away from the wall, forcing herself to think calmly about everything. "Vash, Milly… I really think we need to get to the bottom of this ourselves."

Milly gave her partner a thoughtful look. "It's not exactly our area of investigation though. Isn't this a matter for the sheriff to handle?"

"Yes, but…," Meryl hesitated, wondering if she was behaving irrationally, and suddenly decided that she didn't care. "I just can't believe that Miss Dolores could have done this out of malice! Even if she's a little strange, even if there is some truth to the accusations against her – she was still kind to us. It just doesn't make any sense. And you saw what happened this morning. If we don't do something, they'll kill her," she exclaimed passionately. "We have to try and save her!"

_What in the world has gotten into me lately?_

Feeling abashed by her outburst, Meryl quickly clammed up. She wondered how foolish she had just sounded when she felt Milly's hand clap down on her shoulder and give an encouraging squeeze. Looking up she saw Vash watching her. He had a gentle smile on his face.

"Vash, what…?"

"Oh, it's nothing," Vash said amiably, reaching into his jacket as he headed towards the door. "Well let's get going, then."

"Where are we going?"

"Back to Dolores's house, of course," answered Vash as he slipped his sunglasses on.

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	15. Chapter 14 Imagining Things, pt1

**Chapter Fourteen: Imagining Things, Pt.1**

----------

Another bout of déjà vu swept over Meryl as she found herself retracing familiar steps through Dolores Hawthorne's empty home. But whereas before the darkened rooms seemed comforting, now they felt gloomy and unsettling, what with their odd assortments of half-finished concoctions and strange implements scattered throughout. Now thoroughly in investigative mode, Meryl had to wonder: did circumstances and misplaced gratitude cause her to turn a blind eye to the obvious signs of an unbalanced mind?

Perhaps… but she was determined nonetheless to give Dolores the benefit of the doubt.

So the trio spent several hours combing through all the shelves and cabinets, exploring the back rooms, and examining every book and basket. Yet for all their effort, they could come up with nothing that would further their understanding of the midwife's mindset or suggest an alternative motive for her crime. In fact (Meryl acceded grudgingly) the evidence was pointing strongly against her.

They were sitting at the table in the outer room, picking through various unpromising items when Meryl suddenly tossed aside the notebook she was examining and, with a rather Milly-like manner, gazed wide-eyed up at the ceiling. In spite of her increasing sense of despair, she couldn't help again being oddly fascinated by the house.

"What is it, Meryl?" Milly asked as she idly thumbed through a box of recipes.

"It's just that I'm so _amazed_ by all this! Every time I look around this place, I only have more questions." Meryl gestured around the room. "How does she manage without electricity? What does she do about plumbing?" She leaned across the table and reached into a basket near Vash, pulling out a piece of something shriveled. "What kind of plant is this? How is she able to grow anything at all?"

Long since bored out of his mind with the tedious pace of their investigation, Vash roused himself and was looking intently at the thing in Meryl's hand, brows slightly furrowed. "Rem was the one who was interested in plants. Flowers in particular. I don't recall seeing her handle one like this, though, but I think I remember learning about something like it in the archives. What was it called…?"

Vash stood up and started pacing, lost in thought as he twisted the plant idly in his fingers. Milly, likewise restless, yawned hugely and got up to stretch. Meryl sighed: she knew this was the signal that they had gone as far as they could with their searching. It was depressing. Defeated, she was preparing to sink her head against the table when the sound of a stomach rumbling drew her attention towards her partner. The tall girl was now rifling through the cabinets around the stove with avid interest.

"Gosh, I'm getting so _hungry_. Do you think Mrs. Hawthorne would mind if we ate something from her pantry?"

"I don't think that's such a good idea, Milly. Aside from her not being here, I'm not so sure it would be very safe."

"Aww…," Milly agreed reluctantly, replacing a cracker tin. "Do you think it would be all right to at least get something to drink before we go?"

"Well, I don't see why not," said Meryl, recalling the tea that Dolores had offered them. In the end that hadn't hurt them, had it? Besides, it was a long, hot walk back into town. "She probably has a water jug or a thermos or something around here…."

They all began looking around the kitchenette, and aside from an empty kettle found nothing that had obviously held water. Even the sink had no faucets, just a drainage plug in the basin and a dry bucket underneath.

"She must have had to haul water from a well," muttered Vash as he turned away from the sink, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "She did say something about getting her own water from an underground vein. I'll bet we overlooked it while we were searching earlier."

Sure enough, another quick hunt through the house revealed a narrow space hidden behind the open bathroom door; Milly had mistaken it earlier for a linen closet. Vash squeezed himself inside, kneeled down and lifted up a large square board that covered the floor, revealing a hole. Leaning over his back, Milly shone a light across the opening and down into the shaft. Meryl then pressed carefully around Vash's other side, trying to get a better look at the well. They could just make out a faint glimmering along the walls, and the sound of running water.

"I guess that solves one mystery," remarked Meryl as she watched Vash slowly lower a bucket into the well. "But it's an awful lot of work to haul water every time you need to cook or wash or bathe or just drink something."

"Yes, it is," agreed Milly, who had grown up in a village with a central well in the town square. "But you take it in turns to do the hauling, and if you have a big storage tank you can get enough to last through the week. Every Wednesday afternoon was my turn, and it took me three hours just to get enough for the animals!"

_You sure had it rough growing up_, thought Meryl as she simply shook her head. She was about to comment wryly on the fact when at that moment she was distracted by an unusual odor drifting through the well closet. It was an odd, musty smell she had sometimes encountered with aged plumbing in dark, decrepit buildings, and she impulsively glanced over her shoulder towards the bathroom.

"Something really smells funny," she mussed.

"Could it be gas?" wondered Milly.

Meryl scowled. "If you don't drop –!"

"No, it's true, Meryl – remember when I helped dig the well? They warned us about the dangers of underground excavation, and one of their lectures was all about gas. It's really dangerous, because you can accidentally release colorless, odorless gases that could quickly kill you if you're exposed to them for too long."

Meryl shuddered, thinking back to that time - she hadn't quite fully appreciated until now just how risky Milly's well-digging job had been. At the time it had seemed mostly a necessary inconvenience, and she had been so preoccupied with worrying over Vash's slow recovery...

Closing her eyes, she leaned her head restfully against Vash's side. He briefly glanced down at her while hauling on the rope.

"Hang on, Meryl - I've almost got the bucket up all the way. Just a few more moments..."

She smiled softly to herself.

Milly, meanwhile, was going off on a tangent. "... Mostly you feel tired and nauseous, but sometimes smelling gas even makes you _hallucinate!_" She paused suddenly, a thoughtful expression on her face. "And it makes me wonder, you know, if maybe there isn't some kind of invisible gas cloud floating all through Bowe's Flats. Because ever since we came to this town, I've been having the most _vivid_ dreams, and thinking they're completely true until I wake up!"

Vash, who had one second earlier succeeded in lifting the bucket from the hole and was staring intently into the vessel with a puzzled expression, abruptly turned to face Milly. Meryl likewise lifted her head to stare at her friend.

"Um... what do you mean by that, Milly?" she asked, trying to keep her tone light.

Milly gave an embarrassed laugh. "Well, take last night for example. When I went to sleep, I had this incredible dream about sitting with Mr. Woofwood in the city park in December. He was exactly the way I remembered him – even right down to the smell of his cigarettes. And when he held me in his arms and kissed me, I could have sworn it was _exactly_ like that time in –," She quickly broke off with a smile, and then wistfully shook her head. "Anyway, when I woke up, I instantly knew that it couldn't have been true. And it's not only because I know that Nick is gone… but because there are some experiences your heart just won't forget, when they really happen."

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End file.
